Iceland is known for many things. Wild, dramatic landscapes that feel like they were carved by the gods. Every visit leaves me in awe.
But on my second trip, I found myself craving something different. Something I hadn’t seen before.
A little nudge from Google Earth and a bit of curiosity sent me flying my drone past the jagged coastline, out over the vast blue of the North Atlantic.
And that is when I saw them.
Rings on the sea.
Perfect circles, just floating there. Calm, elegant, almost otherworldly. For a second, they reminded me of anklets laid out on teal silk. But there was something bigger about them, something cosmic. Tethered galaxies, drifting across the surface of the sea.
Of course, they were not ornaments or galaxies. They were sea farms. Salmon pens quietly spinning their own story in the deep.
But the shapes stayed with me. They felt ancient and modern at the same time.
I couldn’t help but think of that old Vedic line. “Yatha pinde tatha brahmande.”
As is the microcosm, so is the macrocosm.
A reminder that patterns repeat. In the stars. In the sea. In the designs we leave behind.
Iceland always surprises me. It is a living sculpture. A wild passion project of the Earth.
But that day, out beyond the coast, it showed me something new. A strange and beautiful alignment. Tethered galaxies, whispering across the water.
