"If I fall into this canyon, at least I would have seen this. You can tell them that", he says.
But I will jump after you, I say.
"No, pas possible, somebody has to tell the story", he responds.
The birds will tell it, I reply.
We are hiking up Glymur, the 2nd highest waterfall in Iceland.
"I feel like a Hobbit", he says after a while. I can see why. We've had to scale rocks, use ropes to climb up steep sections, go through caves, and wade through streams in order to reach this elusive beauty.
I perch myself on a rock and listen to the water suspended, like a promise. Then crash, like heartache. A bird comes up to me, hopping closer, unafraid. I think it's Valerie.
We climb down, a bit sore, pleased to have been witness to another wonder of this volcanic land.
It was there before us and will there long after we leave. Like our names that we wrote in pencil and left at the Culture House in Reykjavik. Their guest book is your name in the card catalogue.
I kind of like that we might get checked out.