Quote:Once, many moons ago, I spent a month in Iceland with too little money and nothing to slow a march of days that seemed already to be getting much too short. It was September, and each morning and late afternoon a wind would come through Reykjavík to clear the air, sifting and reshaping the clouds. By eight o’clock, the sun would start to set, and little yellow lights would trace the contours of the hills. I spent much of the month walking through unfamiliar neighborhoods, trying to imagine what it would be like to make a life in each. This wasn’t an unusual pursuit, since at that time I was a stranger to adult life everywhere I went.