If you head East from Þingvellir and reach the height of land, and the turn off to Laugarvatn, why not stop and wait for the sun? This is elf country. They just might show. What you are looking for are rainbows almost invisible as the sun disperses the mist like a breath.
And if they don’t show, waiting is also arrival. It all depends upon which country you arrive in. Care to try? You’ve got nothing to lose!
Both are heads. Literally. The word remains in English as a cob, known in cobblestones (each has a round head) or a cape, which is also a headland, and that’s the Icelandic word: hæð, or head, or height. Remember that for the culture that settled this magical place, these really were heads. And so they remain.
Light tells its own stories in Þingvellir. We are here to witness. It’s no surprise the Icelanders first called Christ “White Christ.” He was the north, that place from beyond the world. Who nonetheless came, physically, as this Earth, in a harsh and beautiful mercy.