Oh Reykjavík, you can be lovely in the winter. Your days sometimes start with a snowfall and end with the sigh of the wind, while others nothing in the world will break the day-long quiet. Footprints unnoticed form and disappear. Your streets smell of grilled fish and cookies. Your windows never go to sleep; they keep watch, blinking in the long night, like cat’s eyes. What if all days — everywhere, for everybody — were like this?