1. On our drive to Skogafoss there was a church so far in the distance that it looked like it would be the perfect size for balancing on the tip of my pinky finger. It sat on an otherwise unblemished landscape, no other buildings or silhouettes anywhere remotely close. Behind it, the sky blazed a deep orange, endless, a sign of the sun poking its way into the world, setting the entire horizon on fire. I was transfixed by the sight of the church, lost in the wonder of its place in this world, prompting me to consider my own. For all its barren land and tiny cities, Iceland kept finding ways to make me feel small. I watched the church until it bowed out of my view, unable, for some powerful reason, to break my gaze. Who used it? How many of them? How long had it stood in the face of the sun like that? It felt eternal while I felt ephemeral.
2. The sunrise on the morning we visited the powerplant established itself much more gently. We were awake long before the sun, but even as it loomed closer, just on the other side of the horizon, the sky continued to house a small scattering of stars, glowing faintly on a blanket of blue. The darkest inky hues faded so softly to shades of cerulean which effortlessly took the hand of the ribbon of maroon twirling over the skyline. The soft gradient occurred so smoothly that I found myself captivated, desperately searching in the sky for the point where one color definitively became another. I fell short, and my eyelids fell heavy again. I decided that maybe some things did not need answers, did not need to be figured out. Some things need only be admired. I allowed my eyes to close, just for a short while, and felt the colors of that sky wrap around me, lulling me to a comfortable rest.
3. There was a buzz in the air, heavy like the crackle of a current, that tipped us off: something was happening. I’d been standing in ankle deep snow with Shannon, spinning around and willing feeling not to abandon my toes just yet. Earlier, when she’d left to grab spare socks from the bus, I’d pleaded with the sky. I sang a tiny song and I begged the stars to grant just one wish, just one of any of the hundreds I’ve sent their way this lifetime, even if that wish were not the lights. But the buzzing, of course, could not be anything other than the granting of that wish. A fur coat and a long braid rushed by us. I told Shannon that we needed to follow. Andi, on her knees in the snow, delivered the answer. The white misting the sky before our eyes appeared as a shy green streak on a screen. We were seeing the Aurora; it was taking shape right in front of us. A wall of tripods exchanged their excitement in hurried whispers. A quiet sense of awe overtook the massive wave of tourists. The lights grew and danced their way into the sky, sending a ripple of reverence through the crowd of onlookers. This messy assortment of beautiful emotions did not leave room for words—it was something only to be felt, to be experienced fully, to sense in the air and in the sky and in the people surrounding you. I understand now why the Aurora is called a phenomenon. It is an indescribable event; all of the words were stolen from my chest. It took me two hours to learn how to speak again.
4. From the top of a mountain I looked out over an expanse of pale lilac-gray with gold threaded through it in a manner resembling spilt ink. The clouds, like puffs of cotton, both darkened the gray and reflected the gold. I wanted to believe I was as close to the stars as I could get standing up there, but I felt so hopelessly far still. It made me want to flip the world upside down so I could swim in the sky. It was bright in a way that demanded so little attention. A gentle, inviting glow spoke to my soul while the wind tore at me. It thanked me for coming, for observing, for admiring. It felt like a soft clasp of my hand and a caress of the cheek, and it inspired warmth in my chest. The sunlight at home feels too harsh now, it yells and stomps its feet like a child, makes me grateful for the time I spent in the company of this Icelandic radiance. It’s a warmth I will always carry inside me.
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