i miss iceland's weather


The soldier month, the bulwark of the year,
That never more shall hear such victories told;
He stands apparent with his heaven-high spear,
And helmeted of grand Etruscan gold.
Our harvest is the bounty he has won,
The loot his fiery temper takes by strength.
Oh! Paladin of the Imperial sun!
Oh! crown of all the seasons come at length!

This is sheer manhood; this is Charlemagne,
When he with his wide host came conquering home
From vengeance under Roncesvalles ta'en.
Or when his bramble beard flaked red with foam
Of bivouac wine-cups on the Lombard plain,
What time he swept to grasp the world at Rome.

Hilaire Belloc
*laughs* That's a very . . . specific dream about Iceland. None of this "I was in Iceland but it didn't look like Iceland" stuff like my mom has (although it's usually "it was my house from when I was a kid only it was all wrong and the rooms were from my first apartment" in her case).

I must admit I don't miss Iceland as a whole, just certain bits of it. But I am very glad we went.
Whoops--didn't make that clear enough. Mom hasn't been dreaming about Iceland, she just has dreams of the "I was in this place but it was actually another place" sort.

I love my icon too! I was thrilled to stumble across it in the course of my LJ meanderings.