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Iceland is a land being torn apart. Straddling the mid-Atlantic ridge, the divide between two tectonic plates being forced asunder, its volcanic landscape is growing by centimetres every day. Unlike Scotland, which has some of the oldest geology on earth, Iceland, only 500 miles north west has some of the youngest. It is a land where fire meets ice, and heat meets arctic cold; in places it feels primordial like a protoplanet in a new solar system. Active volcanoes slumber under their glacial nightcaps, ready to erupt with devastating force. Barren wastelands of mossy lava stretch from volcano to coast, past old sea cliffs which stand proudly inland miles from the black sand shore. There are thunderous waterfalls of every size and shape; exploding geysers and bubbling mud; glacial lagoons full of drifting iceberg wrecks, where the frigid water reflects dancing aurora; and enormous icecaps from where long tongues of glaciers reach out to lick the sea. And with this plethora of dramatic subjects to choose from, what I did return home with? Well, mainly, a dozen pictures of leaf litter...