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women. No need to tell me about men. Then it crossed my

mind to write you a letter. I guess I’d thought about you, I

must have, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. For

example, I also think about the frost that melts into the

ground and makes everything wet, makes all our feet wet.

Yet not yours, you who had such good shoes, people here

still talk about it, and then there are those American boots

that apparently keep one’s feet eternally dry. Not many

people here believe it. But even if I think about you, it’s

absolutely meaningless. So much has been thought here in

Iceland, ever since the country was settled a thousand years

ago. Yet some people never seem to think anything, simply

never. Have you noticed that? The expressions of such

people remind me of rotten, useless hay. I’m going to stop

now. Sometimes I also think about horse trailers, about

kittens and about Jupiter, which is a very big planet yet is

still just a tiny speck of light in the sky. I also think

sometimes about the rain in China, I’m sure you’re familiar

with it. I think about all sorts of things. So even if I think

about you, it’s nothing remarkable. I’m sitting on a stool,

no, I’d already mentioned that. The snow is melting on the

mountain above me. You see how little happens here. Life

here is just melting snow and frost. Is it any wonder that it

crossed my mind to write a letter? I’m lying, though. Life

here isn’t just melting snow and frost. For example, the

shop manager Sigurður is drunker some days than others.

Yesterday he couldn’t stand on his own two feet. The day

before yesterday he was so spirited that his wife had to lock

him in the house. She seems to have some trick or other for