He inhales and exhales. He shuts his eyes and opens them once more. He stands on top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. The salty smell in the air gives him feeling of familiarity, a feeling of nostalgia. This spot looks as if it’s been spared the hands of time to Iceland. He longs to feel the water against his feet but the grassy terrain will do instead as the bristles find themselves in between his toes. His brown jacket flaps in the wind and so do his flocks of silver hair. He eagerly came to watch the sunset for another day but grey clouds threaten the scenery. But no matter, Mr. Puffin is not frightened by the incoming storm. Instead, he swoops down to the water for a tasty treat. Flying above the water, he spots his target and dives right in before flying back up the cliff with a few mackerels dangling from his beak. He takes a spot on top of a boulder next to his owner, munching happily on his late-night snack as he omits sounds of delight.

But Iceland is less enthusiastic as his tiny partner. The ominous clouds are ruining the vista. But he will stay and watch the sunset as he planned.

And his wish is granted. Therefore he leaves his spot at ease. He carries his boots in his left hand and his pet puffin follows closely behind him. Iceland is happy. And tomorrow he’ll be back with the identical smile on his face, as the same words echo through his mind:

Ísland, best í heimi