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I remember her. Long before your time, before roads and electric pylons, I flowed wild and unshaped through the valley. I was young then, a stream born from deep in the rock and fed by snowmelt and rain, my rocky bed flanked by lichen and birch. I knew the silence of the heath, only broken by the croaks of ravens and the whispers of the wind, I knew the weight of snow in winter and the release in the spring. I knew the sorrow of loss and the joy of birth. But of all the shape

I am smiling as we turn off road number one towards Skaftafell national park on the south coast of Iceland. My husband and I are on one...

Increasing angles of earth and water. A walk between shipyards in Wivenhoe. It was on a particularly grey day that I first stepped off the train at Wivenhoe station. A very English day, some might say, although for me, England was the country of endless summers. Whenever I returned home during college holidays, people would smugly ask me about the ‘English weather’, perversely ignoring the fact that even at the height of summer the temperature in Iceland rarely rises above

the small details in nature...

I’m watching from afar the news about the next impending eruption in Iceland, near the town of Grindavik and the ever popular Blue Lagoon. All have now been evacuated and the nation waits with bated breath for further developments. Will it blow big time or will it just be another 'tourist eruption' as the last three eruptions? I hiked up to the eruption twice in 2021 but both times there was thick fog and I didn't see much, but my other senses were heightened and I particula

I’ve always had a longing for forests; tall elegant pines and silvery otherworldly beech trees rising from the fern-carpeted floor, aroma and birdsong filling all my senses. But I’m born in Iceland were there are very few trees so this affinity with forests felt bizarre. It wasn’t until I visited the birthplace of my German grandmother, and found that the village sat at the edge of a huge pine forest, stretching as far as the eye could see. Could it be that my longing for fo