North

Soft, translucent light shoots down from a far-away place
as the landscape turns green, again, slowly.
Pale neon lichen on top of storm-beaten branches
and I remember Vik; snow falling horizontally onto raven black sand.

Soundscapes of swans and deep white stillness
fills up my insides
and I know that it is coming back, once more;
the circle has started to turn.

White

Iceland, Spring 2013

and yet there is such stillness; buried deep.

Tjaldur

Waiting for the snow to calm,
The land, white and lunar
beneath volcanic heights,
holds its breath.

We journey to the very South
of this Northern Island
in search of barren solitude
and silence.

Water gushes down,
falling like moonlight onto black rocks.
But we can hear no sound at all
from the cliff face,
Until oyster-catchers
undo the bright, still silence;
beautifully.