In Gunnar’s Iceland, a man’s home was what he could build with his own hands.Rocks for a wall were present everywhere. The hands responded.
And a house was made of sod, cut from that home, by the same hands. So, all those fields in Iceland?
Those are the bodies of men. That’s what it is to be home.
Wandering around Reykjavik (and outside of it), a pattern emerges…
And then there’s this:
No arms at all!
These are the dimensions of respect.