Recently we had a day so full of glorious sunshine and gently rolling surf that I experienced a strange sense of cognitive dissonance. The sea beckoned invitingly, and my desire to dip into it was very strong. Yet, like Caravaggio’s Bacchus, it’s invitation comes at a cost. To have done so would have resulted in the instant pain of frostbite. And yet, I continually felt the desire to dive into the waves and enjoy the bliss of a sunny afternoon at the beach. In contrast with Perth’s immutably blue skies, I can’t help but be spellbound at how Iceland’s weather, light and views are capricious and compelling in equal measure in rapid transitory bursts.
Living so tuned to the environment in such a remote place far from everywhere is proportionately inverse to the storm clouds gathering across the globe in response to Trump’s first week in office. As I fully expected, he’s delivering on all his promises, not offering ‘truth’ but ‘intent’. I feel cocooned here and I’m grateful for it, though it directly impinges on my serenity in communications with Iranian and American friends already effected by his madness.