headlights on the return from Vik
snow settles in the fields
swirls like critters
skittering across the road
wind picks up a cloud
of snow windscreen whiteout
we hurtle into a void
we hope


climbing the python road
alternatively crunchy with ice
or slick with mud
past the scar where scree
from glacier melt
scoured the best farmland
up the incline of the volcano
not seen but sensed
before we retreat


driving past lava fields
nothing moves
rocks cleaved like skulls
from the sagas
Thingvellir replicated


this mornings still warm toast
tossed to the honk and stink of ducks and geese
confined to that small corner
of Tjornin* heated ice free
our daughters delight
turned nocturnal as we await the light
midwinter morning

*The Pond ( in central Reykjavik )

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