04/09/2017
I ambled towards Seljalandsfoss, my collar upturned and hood shielding my hair from the icy-cold shower. Even with my jacket zipped all the way up and a shawl wrapped around my neck, I was shivering, and though my heart was willing, I was defeated by the bite of pelting water in wintry wind. I retreated my steps, wishing I could have braved the walk behind the sixty-five-metre waterfall.
But Seljalandsfoss and its surrounding cliffs that stretch like long arms have a surfeit of beauty to gaze upon. Flocks of white-feathered birds winnow the air and swirl about the lip of the soaring cliffs where the water of Seljalands River plummets, like guardians keeping watch. If only the birds knew my envy: what bliss it must be to marvel at the waterfall from their vantage point.
