Out there.

“Lumbering mounds of ice the size of houses hung suspended on the surface of the water, moving millimeters in millennia. Even in the biting cold, they melted faster than they slid.

"Black and brown fields swayed in the distance, though the girl felt no breeze. The surface of the water was flat - a reflective plane of disorienting symmetry. Up and down was a matter of perspective on the shoreline, not a matter of truth. Ice crystals formed in her eyebrows as she slowly exhaled.

"The sun never set these days. It floated in the sky like a transient bird, held at bay by powerful winds. Perpetually drawn to the horizon, the ball of radiant light leaned to barely kiss it for a moment’s embrace, but it hung suspended, lofted a finger’s width above its love. The days were long, but the girl didn’t much mind.

"Her thick canvas parka coated in a thin sheen of mist and ice crackled as she started to walk along the beach. Black sand shot off in a straight line as far as she could see, until it melded into a misty blue-gray twilight where mountains met sky. The shoreline wove to the left and right as tides came in and out, slowly, rhythmically, endlessly.

"No howling wind. No thunderous waves. No cawing birds. Silence, but for the crunch of her boots on volcanic sands. Silence, but the crack and swish of her coat. Silence, but for movement in a still-frame.”

The man lovingly rubbed the shoulder of the young woman next to him, her eyes hidden behind dark glasses were pointed at him, while he looked forward.

He sighed and spoke softly. “It’s beautiful. I wish you could see it.”

She leaned her head into his shoulder. “It’s not your place to feel sorry, it’s mine. Because the picture you see can only be that picture; it can only be as beautiful as your eyes make it. But the picture I see, oh I wish you could see it. I wish you could feel it like I do.”

She smiled and felt the cold coastal breeze of the woman in the picture.

Iceland by Moyan Brenn licensed under CC BY 2.0