The surface is not Iceland.
It’s just weather.
Anywhere. They live in your mind, which is the world, and materialize out of thin air, especially when your mind starts to merge with the world of cold and stone beyond the human world. Then, be prepared. They can show up anywhere.
But if you can’t find them there, go along the beach west of Hafnarfjell at low tide in winter.
Time and again, Gunnar wrote that poverty is the greatest wealth. Here’s an example from his childhood fjord. Here, every farm i needed a source of fresh water. The smaller the farm, the more precarious the source. Here’s the water source of a small croft near Bringubakki.
Look how the water flows with life within the remains of winter’s cold, just as the life flows through the family that brings it into their house. This small, austere pleasure of this correspondence is a great richness.
Well, it’s freezing in Hallormstaðir, and the Lagarfljót isn’t, shall we say, a great place for swimming today, but while the weather stations are warning of heavy snow and ice ahead, let’s remember the ice of April, as it breaks on the shore with the music of a flock of 100,000 tiny birds. The ice is the birds, as it shatters and lifts, and refreezes and tilts and falls, and washes in on the waves, all written with the record of a year.
And if you can’t, well, there’s April, when the ice plays its recording, just once, in birdsong.
Sure, you can go spelunking in a cave and see a few columns of stone, but nothing beats a bit of sinkholing in April.
But the magic will come again next year!
In Iceland, you look at the flow of life through a subconscious mind of ice from beyond the edge of the world, or …
One could easily think about lesser things.