Iceland

In a land of fire and ice, the people are happy and peaceful.  Children are adored, elderly are sheltered and community life is celebrated.  Life is praised.  The land is barren and beautiful.  Shadows cast for a hundred yards.  I feel in awe, small; a witness to life on the 5^th day in the book of Genesis.  Swans flock to nest.  Whales crest and play in the cold, dark waters.  Puffins preen and protect their young.  Sagas and stories are cherished as treasure, a heritage of survival.  The walls of lava are prisms of iridescent purples and blues, a brush of orange; a wealth of hues.   I marvel at the warmth of water, the abundance that keeps the football fields green and the floors of the bathroom heated.  I wrap myself in the cozy down that welcomes me to sleep.  I smell the fresh rosemary baked into a bread loaf, the crisp crust and moist steam rising to melt the butter into pockets of earthy flavor.  I taste the freshness of the foods that bless me with health and vitality; a sense of well-being.   I laugh at the humor that reveals the obvious contradictions and complications of human existence.  I appreciate the quality of a sweater, knitted with care, that will last a lifetime – a buffer from the wet and cold that keeps the heart warm.  I explore with caution for the violence of nature, and walk without fear of acceptance.  I am on an island, isolated and wondrous, yet not alone.  I can touch the thin space of time and bond with a grandfather who joyfully breathed the air of ages, climbed the glaciers and testified to his family that “Iceland is the most beautiful country in the world.”  I am inspired and emboldened by an educated, artful people who are proud of their culture, protective of their language, and unimpressed with the pretense of society.  To read, to carve, to cook, to hear the wind, to turn my face to the sun, to wake.  I love this land.