A Last Walk Across The Dead Alleys.
I took a last stroll in the silent dampness of Hólavallagarður. Such a melancholy place during the autumnal months. It’s all fallen leaves and rowan’s tiny pomes. And rotting graves, fading flowers and forgotten angel figurines. I bid my farewell to all the little children sleeping in the womb of that mossy soil, to the … Read the full article →