Iceland

Iceland. 
The river moves like a quiet thought, threading the white banks with patience and a hint of warmth. 

Clouds lift like the last stubborn doubt and the hill with its few trees stands guard, not for glory, just for the simple duty of being. 

I feel the kind of silence that does not freeze. It feeds you. It says there is time to forgive yourself and keep walking.

The light brushes the snow, a soft reminder that even in the blue hours, kindness finds a way to show up. Out here I remember that calm is not the absence of weather. 

It is the choice to let the current carry what no longer needs to be carried. I let the cold teach me to be honest. I let the landscape teach me to be gentle. And I leave warmer than I arrived. 

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