You see, it goes like this. There are human people and there are other people, and some of those are horses, except it’s not clear which ones, the human people or the horse people.

Next Stop, the Glaciers

Nearest farm? Well, there’s a ford, and then a kilometre-long road to an abandoned house, or there’s a footbridge over a gorge, and a two-kilometre long path to an abandoned house, wayyyyyy down deep in the rock, with a raven croaking overhead, asking if you’re dropping in for dinner, and there’s the old foot road to the south, drifted in and … no, there is no farm.

There are just horses, with their solar cell.

A farm is not its buildings. It is it’s life.

Suðurdalur, Iceland

Farms are planted in the sun.