The rest of Sunday was lovely; we went to the Selfoss community center, which was swarming with kids and pale-skinned Icelanders...

The hike to the summit takes some time because it's so impossibly beautiful we have to stop and stay awhile.

The islands were tall and green, wind-swept with sheep but industry, too. When the ladders ended, a grassy hiking path lay before me.

I'd caught the end of a geology talk, where the park ranger held up time-stamped photos of the bewitching tall spires.

I started the Spencer Trail hike before 7 am, when the sun cast half the land with gold and chased me on the slope.

I was on the hunt for a yellow-crowned night heron, a stalky bird in the beloved heron family, an active hunter at all hours of the day.

A scraggly head poked up from the nest, and another, until all three mango colored bills were visible. They yawned at the great big sky.

We’re on a mission to find something we lost, and we know exactly where to look: where the white pine recedes to chalky scree.