Iceland, a totally inappropriate name. Though winter is most likely a different matter. Once I heard that the island received it’s name from a mix up on a map. Iceland is Greenland; Greenland is Iceland. Makes no difference really, it’s all green and ice. Quiet and cold. Beautiful and wild.
One of those mounts of earth on the outskirts of town is supposed to be the body of a beloved lady troll the locals say. Who upon her death the citizens paid honored by placing her within a great burial mound just outside the village. The troll husband apparently became the mountain in some perverse way of thanking the citizens for the honor paid his wife. His gift being a massive obstacle to the water filled prevailing winds causing yet more rainfall. Probably seemed like a nice idea, so many are, but in the end just made it wetter. It’s supposed to be summer now and I’ve been told it’s a nice day from a few locals now, but a drizzly rain has been falling all day with but barely a reprise from the wet or the sun making anything more than a meager appearance. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective though what qualifies as a nice day. Viking descendants are a hearty stock of people for sure. They seem to love it here.