Here on the trail along the Selfljót, this rock stopped me in my tracks. Is it not an old story from the sagas or some old folk tale?
A bearded man (or elf? or dwarf?) on the left, and a fox on the right? There are a lot of rocks along the trail, but this one was unique.
She lives as a mountain wetland on the south side of the summit of the Stapavik-Njardvik Trail. Beautiful, isn’t she. Notice her dark consorts to the right.
Sure, a ptarmigan on the Selá, Christmas dinner, easy to identify.
And an elf bird in its nest in the hraun, not Christmas dinner, easy enough.
But a cairn in the Villingadalur, that looks like an elvish bird, tricky.
Yet, it’s by it that you find your way through elf country to Christmas dinner.
I mentioned the dragons of Rauðhóll a few days back. Here’s another.
This one is hunting elf sheep. The bright, emerald-green patch in the dragon’s mouth is the sheep’s fleece, and another elf sheep forms its eye. It is, in other words, possible to be attacked by a dragon, and survive. You might, however, be held in its thrall for a few thousand years.
It builds for days…
A dragon curled around its flame.
(Its right eye is just below the middle of the image. This image and the ones of transformed rocks and flowers that follow are taken on Rauðhóll.)
…with flowers bringing stones to life…
An Elf with a Crown of Flowers
… sometimes in humanly-recognizable form…
The Horse Sleipnir Carrying þor as a One-Eyed Moon on Its Back
… and sometimes not (which is the most amazing part) …
.. but then, in the low, late evening light on June 21, the hills rise up around you in the horizontal light. It’s just that night. The next morning they begin to ebb away, not all at once, but you can notice the difference. On midsummer night, though…
… you truly live between worlds and can see the past and future. Lest you feel special, just remember, the sheep see this all the time.
Life is indeed good.
in the Hitarádalur, the mountains are playful.
Of them all, though, Rauðakúla is the most joyful.
That’s not a lens flair effect. That’s the mountain at play.
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.
Just follow the trail to Kjarval’s shepherding hut. He’ll be waiting.
Bring an appropriate gift.