The buildings in Iceland often stand alone. I, too, am perhaps more solitary than I think. At…
On a calm day, as the branches tease apart each strand of sunlight, the neighborhood blooms: that which was concealed…
Silver sun in a platinum sky. The lake is liquid mercury — dazzling, tremulous and reflective. A church steeple, shimmering…
A row of trees against a woolen sky. This is no forest: you see straight through the branches onto the grass beyond, or rather field and…
Up the path, you turn to see the town. Haven’t we all looked behind ourselves before? Like Orpheus, we want to know that the place we came from is real. Origins — they feed us. Without them, we wouldn’t be here.