Where We Felt Small

At Skógafoss the water falls sixty meters in a single sheet across the old sea cliffs of Iceland's South Coast, wide enough to fill the whole frame with white. We arrived before the tour buses, the black stones of the riverbed still quiet and the mist rising alone in the gray morning light. I asked Corey to walk down toward the base so the picture would carry some real sense of scale, and even then he all but disappeared, a small dark mark against that wall of falling water. Photographs alone rarely convey how large Skógafoss actually is. You have to stand on those stones and feel the ground answer it. No rainbow yet that early, just the plain weight of the water coming down.