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© Ashley Frick, 2019

REYKJAVIK + SOUTHWEST ICELAND

It was nearly midnight, but the sun just dipped below the mountains,

the air still holding onto the day's last breath of warmth.

And the ground was alive. 

Buzzing, lurching, rocking, green electricity... jutting from every direction. Bumping rocks rose sharply as lush mountainsides grew larger in the distance.

Long ago’s stories of elves and faeries were instantly real; the lava fields and glacier sheets fast approaching, looming and hiding traces of magic as they sprawled.

Wild Icelandic horses tölted, their billowing locks trailing against a purple-hued sky.

Mist.

Blues and greens, royal chartreuse, plum, periwinkle. The mist enveloped everything.

And then there was rain. 

Forty. Fifty. Sixty minutes of thunder, downpour, hail. Feeding the mist as each drop exploded.

And as quickly as it came, it was gone; only a rainbow in its wake. The horses shake and roll on the ground, basking in the colors above them. Up again; running across the field in a flash.

Volatile, rugged, thrilling, beautiful country.