Iceland's Everyday Magic Realism
Craggy black stone towers loomed over the black sand and stone beach. A silky mist floated between the structures silhouetted ethereally from the sun. They seemed close, but with each step, our feet sunk uncomfortably into the smooth stones. My muscles clenched as I released my foot from the stony grip. It’s as if someone, or something, didn’t want us to continue forward. We could’ve stopped and just gone back to the car, but I was drawn to the towers.
My friend Jill and I pressed on, wanting to see behind and in between and around the stacks the guidebook says is the site of an Icelandic elf church. Our husbands, Dave and Cory, reluctantly joined us on the deceivingly laborious trek across the Djúpalón Beach. Jill and I were determined to experience the Icelandic folklore that was as much a part of our guidebook as Icelandic history.
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