Reykjavik, 9 am. Still dark outside but somehow cozy with all the glowing snow and people huddled in down coats and hats and mittens. They stomp their feet and rub their hands together when they get inside their schools and offices and stores, almost always well-heated against the arctic chill outside. They talk about the weather, about the new fluffy snow, and have cups of coffee to warm their reddened noses. There's a buzz in the air, almost of excitement and a little tinged with danger. Will this be a winter like winters once were, with drifts of snow as tall as houses lingering on til long past Easter? Or will it all blow away in raw winds, leaving the city parched, freeze-dried, stark, til summer's come again? Can we hope for a white Christmas? Or will it barely dip below frost, leaving us wondering if the world isn't really changing after all?
Reykjavik is getting ready for its long, dark winter, whatever the season may bring.
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