The season of wind, late, bright nights and long conversations with those who are quickly becoming dear has begun.

A few days ago marked eight years since I stepped on Icelandic soil for the first time. Although I know it wasn't the first time. I know that I have already been there. I have already loved, lost myself and listened to volcanoes wake up from their sleep.

A year ago, the volcano woke up before my eyes. This year it said farewell to sleep on the day of my arrival. Was it waiting? I certainly did. The glow of lava and the heavy cloud of what it held inside. A world in the making. This is where childhood dreams lead to.