Sure, the sunset looking north to Djúpivogur at midnight, mid-July, as the perennial day of solstice starts to fade, are most splendid…
… but the real story here is the black land. It’s what gives the sky its light. It is here that you see it for the first time.
Behind the clouds. Of light, air, water and dust.
At 11 p.m. in August.
At midnight, you look West and forget churches altogether.
The world is bigger at dusk, the farther away it is.
It is good, I think, to go to bed when one is as small as a stone.
As the sun sets over the Skagafjörður and the peninsular pillar of Þorðarhöfði, the waves bring it onto the black sand beach of Gardssanður with a promise of dawn.
And not just of dawn but of eternity. Maybe it’s not definable otherwise, but it sure is here: Eilíifð, roughly translated as “eternity,” better as the “living on”, in the sense of survivors (such as settlers in Iceland, in the midst of such a sea.) Such is the haunting pleasure of islands.
(Beauty can also be a bridge.)
Skagafjörður from Hofstaðir, looking North