In the Norðurárdalur valley in Borgarfjörður, behind the turf houses of Hraunsnef inn, lies a mountain formed by ancient volcanic eruption. Hraunsnefsöxl hangs over the valley in charged stillness. Collapsed after the rage and violence of becoming, she rests. On her limbs lichen grows. Sheep graze. Hot pools form. We walk across her back and know better than to wake her.
In the Norðurárdalur valley in Borgarfjörður, behind the turf houses of Hraunsnef inn, lies a mountain formed by ancient volcanic eruption. Hraunsnefsöxl hangs over the valley in charged stillness. Collapsed after the rage and violence of becoming, she rests. On her limbs lichen grows. Sheep graze. Hot pools form. We walk across her back and know better than to wake her.
Semi-gloss
Paper sourced from Japan
