The black sand beaches at the mouth of the Selfljót are unparalleled.
They stretch hauntingly into the distance, almost unwalked by human feet.
Pretty fine on a calm day!
The sand is so black, every little thing on it is a revelation from a spirit world.
But! But! But! Not on a windy day. It would be ghastly out there, as the drifts show.
A blizzard of black sand! Enjoy the good days, I say.
Take your time.
Watch the water and the sand tell its stories, like a good visitor.
Even climb high for a view.
And then go home. You are small.
Notice how little attention the seals are paying to either global warming or humans attracted to global warming and seals.
There’s a lovely crowd of them off of the mouth of the glacial river flowing out of the glacial lagoon these days, but, to tell the truth, if you go the the Selfljót and look for them in the estuary at the tide change you will have a lot more fun, even if you don’t see a single one.
This was the Iceland that Gunnar left for Denmark, and the one he returned to when war threatened the world. It’s still there, if you look for it, because even if Gunnar didn’t find it again, and you aren’t likely to, either, with a little luck the search will be the finding. Iceland will change you, if you work at it.