The Last Puffin in Iceland

The fate of the Atlantic puffin is up to us My breath formed on the ferry window as I pressed my face into it. The last Atlantic puffin I would see this year skimmed the surface of the break, its wings beating with full effort. My eyes followed him, desperate to keep his little body…

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Poetry From Iceland

Opnaðu hug þinn. gakktu hjóðlega. Open your mind, tread softly. – a sign at the start of the walking paths on Hrísey While attending an art residency on the island of Hrísey I felt compelled to write poetry again. There was little wonder why this happened. The island’s landscapes whispered inspiration at every turn. A…

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