Home... what does it mean? Is it a place, a feeling, a thought - or is it a deep ache for a place which may never have been?
I have thought about this, as I approached this land for which I have spent seemingly a lifetime yearning.
I don't belong in this place, mere kilometers from the arctic, or do I? I am a tropical flower, or so I have been told. And yet, it is in the köld pottur where I make new acquaintances. "Where are you from?", is the constant question, I am clearly not from here, here where everyone knows everyone who *is* from here. When the answer comes, the eyebrows always go up. Florida? Why Iceland?
Why Iceland, indeed. Why here, why would anyone leave the balmy endless summer and white beaches for this black sand paradise?
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