Flashes of light arrive
through the mist of ages.
Slightly colored by interference,
an eerie volumetric haze.
Events, occurring in the distant past.
Declaration of laws, allocation of land,
punishment of crimes, vows of allegiance.
Looking over Þingvellir towards the reddened sun
– that strange nordic semi-permanent late afternoon,
crimson reflections on the lake, distant plumes of steaming vents –
is looking back in time, where history unfolds,
between our eyes and the horizon.