This weekend Skagaströnd saw the first stages of the annual horse roundup or rettír.  The hundreds of horses who spent summer living on the mountains were herded down to a paddock to be sorted and checked on.

I've been in this strange place between being incredibly busy, and incredibly stagnant.  

Let me introduce you to an Icelandic word I learnt recently: Sólarhringur.  With this word in mind, let's say goodbye to my Scandinavian summer.

For the last couple of weeks I had been flirting with the idea of swimming in the sea. 

I've been in Iceland for four weeks now (which seems impossible), but haven't blogged my daily adventures, like I have done over the last few months.  Most days would go something like "I woke up, faffed around in my studio for six hours, collected objects from the beach, watched an episode of The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau and went to bed."  It wouldn't make the most riveting of journals, but that doesn't mean it isn't magical.

Skagaströnd is home to few things.  Its primary claim to fame is a powerful prophetess from the Icelandic sagas, Þordis, and the mountain she climbed daily, Spákonufell: the prophetess’ mountain.