After the end of the Christian age, the dead are a bit alone at Hellnar.
Truth is, the graveyard has become a pasture, blowing in the wind under the volcano.
And the hope and loss and grief of all the families that have lost men at sea, is a bit at sea, too.
Let us still honour them, and carry them.
First, with their church.
Next, with their hay bales. Looks to me like they have been bundled up for harvest themselves.
Next, from their sanctuary.
So must 1100 years of Christian dead comfort themselves when their parishes, and faith, is lost among the living.
A road designed to stay up while going down.
An important principle in a windy land!
Lost the path to Arnarstapi? Or Hellnar?
Sometimes a thrush will lead you the right way. Well, actually, where a thrush leads you is always the right way, whether you are coming or going.