You know that episode of Scooby-Doo where the fog is so thick Scooby slices a circle out of it with a knife? That’s what I think about when I remember driving trough Skagafjörður, high up on the edge of Iceland, sitting in a cloud. I was glad to be a passenger and not responsible for keeping us on the pavement. The ground was visible only a few feet in all directions, and all I could see were those bright yellow reflector polls that indicate the edge of the road.
We’d missed this part of the north on our last trip to Iceland, as we’d never ventured to this side of Siglufjörður. I spent the drive dreaming of riders on horseback pulling up out of the mist and greeting us before falling back to a parallel world. For long moments we moved together in silence, the rider matching our speed and rhythm. There was no direction to go but forward, and the world had disappeared beyond the narrow road. In a minute the lights of a passing car flashed. We shuttered, and the rider moved back into the mist. Soon the clouds parted revealing the ocean and villages below.
I had many moments like this throughout our drive back to Reykjavik. A hazy rain cloud would settle in, hit us with forceful winds, spit giant droplets of water or a wall of mist, and then disperse dramatically, opening up to columns of sunlight...
Photo: Gina Rafaella Furnari, Untitled, 2015; Watercolor on paper