Trafika Europe 1 - Northern Idyll

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

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