When we sat at the airport in Reykjavik one week ago, I browsed through a nearby magazine about Greenland. One featured title caught my eye, ‘Greenland is place that was made so it could be photographed’. Although confident that there is more to mothers nature divine purpose, it becomes increasingly easy to agree with this bold yet undeniable statement. We weren’t properly dressed for an extended icy evening hike, but when the clouds parted during an afternoon stroll, we headed towards the small harbor outside of town to capture the sun kissed horizon. The light descends slowly this time of year, and it draws out that delicious moment when your eyes couldn’t possibly believe another hour of sunset glow. When it lingers, Justin can be found racing up a nearby mountain top or climbing downward to meet the waters edge to catch the perfect angle. Floating in my own reality, I hike, write, take photos and quietly watch the sea ice drift by. As the sun descended, so did the temperature, and when Justin returned from his three hour photo trek, both our hands, feet and face were so cold that ice had frozen the wisps of hair escaping my beanie. This was a penetrating numbness that chilled so deep I wasn’t sure my legs had the strength to hike our way back into town. Despite the physical sensations, or lack there of, the wonder of this place continues to unfold upon endless discoveries of splendor. Falling from the sky and landing softly on our bodies and cameras were snowflakes of perfect construct, flawless intricate stars visible to the naked eye. Never before had we seen such glistening ice take shape into something so tangible as these snowflakes. Renewed with an elevated sense of admiration for the scene before us, we forced one foot in front of the other through deep snow and slippery patches and eventually found ourselves at the grocery store in search of dinner. Discovering the time to be 10:30pm with nothing open except the movie rental store, salty potato chips and cup-of-noodle seemed as good as anything else after hours in a snowy paradise. Once thawed, sleep came easy and the days continue on this way, always holding a vast sense of unknown that melts into the willingness and determination to keep pressing on.
via fisherman for life.