In the first week of October, snow lay on the mountain, though the valley had not yet agreed to winter. The grass had turned the color of rust.
Beside the river stands Kaldá, an abandoned farm. In Icelandic, the name means cold river, and the water still runs beside it, though no one is left to hear. Old stone walls cross the field. The roof has gone red with years. I took this picture because autumn felt like a pause here: summer behind, winter not yet arrived, and a house that has outlasted many of both.
