The Story Behind This Photograph

The island was roughly half a mile away from the main ship, so we boarded inflatable boats, also known as zodiacs, so the crew could shuttle us in towards the small port where we’d disembark.

The ocean’s spray worked in unison with the brisk Icelandic air to cover our coats with tiny droplets as we droned closer, the small engine punching above its weight to carry us to land.

As we stepped off the wobbly boat onto a slightly-less-wobbly dock, I glanced back at the main ship—a fading white track between here and there slowly fading amongst the undulations of the waves as if to our journey’s trace.

My father and I were here to explore Iceland, a country that in recent years has gained international exposure for its breathtaking landscapes, rugged coastlines, and jaw-dropping northern lights.

Now, about halfway through our trip, the ship we called home for the week had navigated us to a small island off the northwestern coast of Iceland—a spot renowned for its wildlife, specifically of the avian persuasion.

Our guide had explained that while there were a few distinct observation spots on the somewhat sparsely-populated island, we should feel free to roam about as we saw fit—within reason of course. After exploring the main birding area—a cliffside just north of the quaint and colorful town—we trekked eastward up along a grassy road, clearly miscolored a greenish-yellow by use from the locals and tourists alike.

As we ambled on, we reached a convergence of grass roads and there at the intersection was a beautifully stoic and unwaveringly calm church. One of the main doors lay agape. The symmetry and contrast of the building set against the blue sky immediately struck me—one door seemingly forbidding entrance, the other blatantly absent as if to entice potential passersby.

To add another pastoral dimension to the scene we stumbled upon, off to the side of the path lay a black and white sheep, unimpressed with our arrival, unwavered by our presence. The contrast of its coat matched that of the church in a way that added another element to the photograph. I love that there are multiple ways one’s eyes could read this image. You might start wandering up the path on the left or the fence along the right, or straight up the middle like my dad and I entered the scene in real life.

I very purposefully didn’t enter the church. If I had, it would’ve somehow set the experience off-balance. In this world, the one in which I remained outside of the church as an observer, I retain the yin and yang of the scenery.

This calm place that I found on that small island will forever remain in my memory to serve as the reset button for my more hectic days. A tranquil reminder that we can find balance in our lives in more places than we might imagine.