It is early morning, with my rickety, small, green jeep I rattle over a dead straight, damp and therefore fortunately dust-free gravel road from Godafoss in the north of Iceland towards the south. The clouds hang low and wrap the barren mountains to the right and left of the elongated valley in dark gray, sometimes almost black veils. The steady clacking, of the somewhat wobbly hood, puts me in an almost trance-like state. The brown-yellow bizarre lunar landscape with its isolated green sprinkles and lonely homesteads as well as the rushing river, along which the track runs, begin to cast a spell on me more and more.

I am immensely fascinated by the coloring of the landscape and its special structures. Why does one find this rather barren landscape beautiful? Does this beauty have a purpose? Is it only a subjective feeling that we humans perceive certain landscapes as beautiful? Questions upon questions occupy me, and I come to the conclusion that colors and shapes form an inseparable unity with the landscape, indeed that color and forms give landscapes their final shape in the first place. Perhaps it is precisely this symbiosis of colour and form that ensures that we are fascinated by landscapes and thus strive to preserve them rather than destroy them.

At the end of the track, the slope becomes rough, steep and uneven and I have to focus all my attention on driving again. Arriving at the destination of the ride, a rough path leads downhill and behind a bend, a view of Aldeyarfoss opens up – suddenly and surprisingly. I stop and take a deep breath: This is one of those incredible moments of wonder that keep popping up in Iceland in so many places. I usually set off without a plan, let myself be guided by chance, follow beautiful places and light moods and see what happens. Here, however, a veritable rush of images explodes before my eyes. I stop, calm down and just enjoy the overwhelming feeling at the sight of the natural power and beauty of the waterfall.