Holar

I am now in Hólar, a very small town (er... village?) in northern Iceland. It is achingly beautiful, small, and smells nice. When I say small, it's not like how Anacortes or Bellingham might be considered "small"; it's small as in we have to go to a neighboring town to buy supplies. Small as in it doesn't have a main street. It does, however, have a plethora of horses (there seems to be more horses than people). I miss the city muchly, but I find tremendous peace here. I've gone from the distracting restlessness of Reykjavik to the soothing, almost monastic regularity of Holar. I've taken to some lovely routines. I feel incredibly focused here - I can read for hours, wander about the valley, feed the horses, and write. I'm so far removed from everything - moving to New York, grad school, even Reykjavik itself has somewhat faded.

And so we go North...