Reykjavik viewed from our fishing boat. You can see
the spire of Hallgrimskirkja, two blocks from a street
called Grettisgata, where a dear friend of mine lives.

Heimaey, i.e. "Home Island," a highlight for me of my
entire summer in Europe. Almost destroyed in 1973,
Heimaey now shines brighter than ever, a precious
jewel in the north Atlantic.

The view out my window at Karine and Matty's
my last morning in Scotland, the day I headed
home to Canada. Beyond those golden grasses
are the ruins of a medieval castle.

Sheep run free across Iceland, ears marked so
they can be identified by owner when rounded
up in the autumn time.

A house buried by the '73 eruption in Heimaey,
now being unearthed from the volcanic ash.