Water or vatn, these are just words.
A trip out to Njardvik and Ytri-Hvannagil is the thing to put those behind you.
This stuff is alive.
The secret of writing books in Iceland is to stop writing them.
Here, one is written.
Note, as Gunnar did, the chain-linked rhymes of Icelandic epic verse rising from the stone itself. Atlantis, he called it.
Fair enough. Iceland, too, is only a name.
This is more.
Which is the most beautiful, an unnamed fall in the summer at Neskaupstaðir?
Or famous Litlafoss below Hengifoss in April?
What a tough choice!
Oh, others are showy, but, over time, after wandering over and through many lava fields and stony wastes, the willow’s stunning, low-level, never-repeated poetic lines win out.
These are rare landscapes in Iceland, as they were mined for peat for many hundreds of years, but they are still there in the remote East, and are being rebuilt in Neskaupstadir (such as the one above). Aren’t they lovely!
It’s always a great day to walk out on the shore of the sea, where the seals and eiðars once swam. The sea might change its level, but that’s a bonus for us.
And the eiðars demonstrate just what it was like here long ago.
Easy does it!
Wildflowers taking the place of eiðars.
There are rewards for turning your back on the sun when it goes behind the hill.
Some things are best watched obliquely, eh.
Go slow, don’t muss your hair, don’t touch, dominate by force of will alone (you have at least a thousand years to work it out), and, of course, don’t muss your hair.
Looking good on the Brunahraun.