Some lava lumps are too powerful to be placed in a wall.
Óndverðarnes in Snæfellsjökull National Park
This is one worthy of being placed in the Icelandic folk song (and Gunnar’s book) Vikivaki, which is a dance with the dead. The point is that they are not dead. Not really.
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.
There is a richness in the North that the lush green of the South can’t touch.
Somewhere North of Dettifoss
(Even the Icelandic map doesn’t name this place.)
It’s stark, and “stark”, we know, is “strong.” You feel your strength here. And clambering over all this broken stone let’s you feel your tendons too!
Well, rock. Drift rock.
In the glacial outwash floods that overwhelmed Kirkjubær, it is a thing. If it wasn’t for little tufts of moss clinging to the roots of grass, the whole Island might have washed away by now.
The rock is full of air.
Here it is up-close:
Kind of like styrofoam, really. Every bubble chamber in the rock is a time capsule of a wee bit of a volcanic eruption. Grass even roots in it and sucks that old gas in.
How cool is that!
Fly fishers begin by observing insects along a stream. Their art follows.
Knitters are just as attentive to the natural world. Here, in a surf of lava cinders, new sweaters begin.
People follow the warmth of this care home.
If you think this hraun in Kirkjubær is barren …
… please stop what you’re doing, because it’s making you think of someplace else.