Fifth Journey Day 22: The Dog Passed Without Pause

Date: May 30, 2025
Location: Ísafjörður, Iceland

I arrived in Ísafjörður this morning. It's a small place that felt like a hidden gem surrounded by sea and mountains. The path down the fjord was narrow and scary. Even the plane seemed cautious. When I stepped onto the tarmac, it felt like I was in a painting: the colors were gray, the air was a little damp, and the air felt very clear.

I didn't try to do a lot. It was just a café by the harbour — the kind of place with steamed-up windows and the smell of yeast and coffee grounds sunk into the walls. I sat by the window with a cup of something that smelled a little like cardamom and watched the boats move with the tide. There's something special about the quietness in a town like this. It's not just empty, it's got a certain depth to it.

The clouds kept changing shape but not direction. The pale sun flickered in and out, just enough to cast reflections on the wet pavement. I saw the shapes of fishing nets hanging out to dry. I noticed how rope lines look relaxed, used, and not afraid to fray.

I didn't open my sketchbook. Not yet. Today felt like a pause. It's a soft page turn, not a whole chapter.

I saw an old man walking down the dock with two dogs following him. One of them looked at me as they passed, then kept going. That moment stayed with me longer than I expected. It was a simple rhythm, unremarkable but complete.

Tomorrow, I might go for a hike in the mountains. Or maybe not. Right now, I'm just enjoying the softness of the day — the kind that you don't notice at first, but then you feel all day long.