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Vefrit fjármagnað af lesendum

Ef þér líkar við skrif okkar og efnistök og vilt sjá vefritið lifa og dafna þá er um að gera að gerast áskrifandi. Þinn stuðningur skiptir máli!

For Dynjandi

Dynjandi, Ellen Wild, waterfall, nature, Westfjords, countryside, úr vör, vefrit, Aron Ingi Guðmundsson
„Until there it is you stand. Beneath the bridal veil of an imagined mythical giant.“ Photo Aron Ingi Guðmundsson

Barely losing the battle against the wind, the small fall of water defied gravity. Falling upwards towards the sky, before remembering its place in reality and spraying downwards with all the elegance of a broken shower-head.

But even in these moments of playfulness, the smallest of falls display such beauty. Diffusing the light through its droplets and at the same time reflecting it a million times as if each airborne droplet was the sun itself.

The ticking of droplets hitting the rock disappear into nothing with the thundering of the great giants of Iceland. So big that they create waves of vibrations, piercing through rock, air and you. The amount of water passing by, make you forget the world around. Each giant waterfall creates his own micro universe, dressing you in the perfect mist of water.

Standing in the mist you are surrounded by an endless reflection of the light, almost confusing you. Mist has the amazing ability to make you focus on the now, because you cannot see further ahead than the next step. At the same time, mist diffuses. Laying an equal light on the things around you, presenting you the opportunity of objectivity and perspective. It is on you to decide whether or not to take the metaphoric hand of nature and let it be your therapist.

There are a great many falls in Iceland, of which a great many giants, but there is only one Dynjandi. He lives in a newly appointed national park in the heart of the Westfjords and standing before him can hardly be put into words. The sensations he brings, take you on a journey, because this site could not decide on one way to lead the water down.

Climbing the path, you will meet every way water can the leap of gravity. Each consequent fall is surrounded by a unique atmosphere of droplet mist, depending on the width, height, bedrock and surrounding. While climbing higher, the water takes you on a story.

My favourite chapter goes by the name of Strompur the mysterious. Falling down a canyon of bright green moss, he hides himself in a golden haze. The diffused light condensing on your skin. A story, just out of reach, forever hidden by reflections. So, you walk on, upwards.

Until there it is you stand. Beneath the bridal veil of an imagined mythical giant. Water thundering down million years of rock, in a timeless state of mind. Cloaking you in that no-man’s-land of focus and perspective. An Icelandic baptism to the ways of time and nature.


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