Iceland 04

On the road to Hellnar, under the shadow of the glacier, Snæfellsjökull. The wild blueberries were tart and juicy.One nite in Hellnar, we walked down a rugged path to a little cafe situated in a cove. The water lapped against rocks, the gulls cried, the quiche was warm, the fish soup (which has supposedly inspired many an icelandic song) was hot, and the beer cold. It was quiet- people seemed to talk in a whisper. Most of the tables were on the porch, with wool blankets slung over chair backs. If I could relive a dinner, that is the one I'd pick. It's on my mind, now. As it has been many a time since. Magic was in the air. Orca's swam past.