Black rock juts sharply 

out of the carpet green grass.

The sky is tinted a slight gray 

while mountains scatter the horizon. 

Rivers and waterfalls, pave their way through the landscape,

carving elegant and pristine flows of sparkling water.

I stare in awe around the dream-like landscape that I’m engulfed in. 

I grip the rough horse's reign.

I feel each thump from the horses' hooves,

leaving silent echoes within the rough terrain.

I bounce slightly seated upon the saddle,

My heels resting forward against the Icelandic horse's torso.

His silky long mane blows slightly in the wind, 

wisps brushing occasionally against my frozen knuckles.

We trot through a shallow river, that winds through rounded rocks,

The horse grunts through the chill and current, 

Pulling me through in a rugged fashion.

The distant roar of a waterfall fades in as we begin to approach it.

Water pours out of the earth, a soft fabric,

highlighting the green and dark grays of this world.

In this moment I am a mental filmaker, 

Polaroids, and films;

though not physically taken,

Slowly fill the files of safely kept memories.

Reykjavík, Iceland.

A sense of wonder sits here,

like nowhere else.