Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Icelandic Sagas - Three Faces
Reflections on three forms.The tireless, all-powerful waves of water carving swathes through history. All is borne before. Cascading from on high to fill us, we tremble at the lion's roar. A whirlpool current in time.
The ice. A form made solid, cracking open the very rocks, and yet smoothing gouged surfaces beneath until all flows as one. Silently. Majestically. Melting our hearts with pure crystal waters. Borne through centuries to us still.
The mist. Penetrating deep within, yet coating all that surrounds. We see the bride's floating veil, borne white to fresh christening robes then cold to the ground in frosty shrouds. The mist reveals.
And so is Iceland. Gazing on the Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
The Icelandic Sagas - In Vapour
It explodes into sulphate spume, coughed up from deep within some rock-bound heaving molten mass. Watch it dissolve into the air, falling as rain to wet the rusted ground. The bubbling waters surrounding the blow-hole draw a brief laced-veil across the catacomb beneath as we gather round once more. There she blows!
The earth cannot contain it. Vapoury ghosts trail the roads, seeking out the weak points to puncture hillside and bog alike. In places it drags the sky down, forms evil-smelling curdled pools of copper-blue. And everywhere, the thick paste-like mud cakes our boots, reminding us we stand on no more than feet of clay.
It is here in the mist, too. Flitting across the landscape, drawing near to silence our steps as it dances around us only to disappear as fast it came. In the mist our tour-bus climbs in the watery light of passing head-lights.
Where are we going ... in time?
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