October and November in the East Fjords, Iceland.

Coast and mountains, East Fjords, Iceland — Berufjörður

About autumn, haust, in the East Fjords...

Mountains in mist, East Fjords, Iceland — Berunestindur and Steinketill

Mountains in Autumn, East Fjords, Iceland — Smátindafjall and Krosstindur

Moss in Winter, Iceland — Moss and specks of snow.

The days have been shrinking and —whereas two months ago I was awake at seven on the dot, my day mapped out, gleefully wriggling in satisfaction at my manic productivity — the lethargy is now growing. Like an indefeatable blanket of sleep, the later I get up, the harder it is, and time to sleep is lagging from 11pm to one in the morning, sometimes as late as three.

Apart from the humans (sometimes), the most important parts of my life* have been happening through the screen (this one I am typing into now). There is only so much time I want to live through this glaring window.

When I've been free, and the weather is agreeable enough that my face isn't half frozen twenty meters out the door, I've tried to spend the six, five, four hours of light [or half-light] outside.

*Writing projects; Phone Credit for Refugees; everyone and everything I care about that isn't here.

Mountains at sunrise, East Fjords, Iceland — Hálsfjall/Klofskarðstindur

Mountains in cloud at sunrise, East Fjords, Iceland — Sauðdalstindur

Sunrises, having previously rarely featured into my life, bar one long Winter in Scotland, have become a main event through October and November. On the best mornings, they make the mountains glow.

Please consider how these photos would look strung out from right to left:

Mountains and low cloud at sunrise, East Fjords, Iceland — Búlandstindur/Goðaborg

Mountains and snow at sunrise, East Fjords, Iceland — Looking across Berufjörður.

Sunrise on snow across the sea, East Fjords, Iceland — Looking across Berufjörður.

Berufjörður, Djúpivogur, East Fjords, Iceland — Looking across Berufjörður to the town Djúpivogur.

Sometimes it has been followed by blue skies.

Blue sky and snow on mountain, East Fjords, Iceland — Búlandstindur, Goðaborg, Sauðdalstindur and Hvítárdalur.

Moon in day light. — The moon in the morning.

Havarí farm, cafe and hostel, East Fjords, Iceland — Píla the dog and Havarí behind.

East Fjords, Iceland — This is the old road. It's now only used by farmers and very occasional hikers.

waterfall and mountains, East Fjords, Iceland — I find this bridge bizarrely terrifying - please note my shadow standing on it.

It's important to remember, however, that for every one of the clear days depicted here, there have been several of savage wind and murk.

Fog on the old farm house, East Fjords, Iceland — Our house as the fog lifted.

Berunesviti lighthouse, Berufjörður, East Fjords, Iceland — Dan sheltering from the wind by Berunesviti lighthouse.

fading into the mist, East Fjords — Smátindafjall and Krosstindur

Icelandic horse, East Fjords — A horse and its foal.

One morning we woke up to find that the snow had settled.

Old farm house, Iceland, snow — Our house in the snow.

Havarí cafe and organic farm in snow — The Havarí cafe and farm in the snow.

Cliffs and snow, East Fjords November — The cliffs above our house.

I am still hiking.

I've always been a frequent visitor to the valley Krossdalur, but had never seen around the final corner, over the last hill to the back. The day I finally did was tinged with regret, as if my swimming stroke had been broken by the end of the pool. There are more mountains to climb, but probably none safely within a four hour round trip from the house. I've mapped a circumference around where we live, and am working the circles more tightly now, tracing the contour lines in turn.

I exaggerate.

wren, bird watching, East Fjords, Iceland — A wren.

Krossdalur valley, hiking in the East Fjords, Iceland — Kjalfjall from Krossdalur.

hiking in the East Fjords, Iceland — Hrossatindur from Krossdalur.

hiking in the mountains, East Fjords, Iceland — Steinketill

As the mountains fade to brown, sometimes dusted with a little snow or frost, the everyday changes along the shoreline are more dramatic. Surrealy beautiful on a calm day, a scene from Wes Anderson film, there are other times when the kilometer and a half walk to the lighthouse is a battle: the wind so strong I can barely see out of my eyelashes, or a penetrating chill seeps through more layers of wool than I can fit under my jacket.

Lighthouse (Berunesviti), mountains, East Fjords, Iceland — Berunesviti lighthouse, Búlandstindur, Goðaborg, Sauðdalstindur and Hvítárdalur behind.

lighthouse, Berufjörður, East Fjords, Iceland — Berunesviti lighthouse, Búlandstindur, Goðaborg, Sauðdalstindur and Hvítárdalur across Berufjörður.

Eider Ducks, East Fjords, Iceland — Eider ducks

mountains and ice, East Fjords in November, Iceland — Smátindafjall and Krosstindur - reflections on the ice.

The frozen things are slightly white from a distance, but the closer I look, the more absorbing they become.

Compared to the overwhelming amount of plastic pollution on some beaches in Scotland or Portugal, this coastline is not too bad.

Plastic pollution, beach clean, East Fjords, Iceland — The beach on the east coast, facing open ocean, seems to collect more plastic pollution.

I collect what I can, but my efforts are less dramatic than they had been in warmer places. Prizing icy plastic away from frozen rocks adds another layer of difficulty, and my fingers start to freeze into claws half way back to the bin. I soon learnt to wear gloves and only to collect what would fit in a bag.