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dimanche 13 avril 2014

Letters from the Northern Lands


My Love

We have arrived on the islands. After a short night and a day of travel, we reached the mountains in the sea. The sun came to greet us for the first time in a week, and as its golden light shone down on us the gloom that had crept into our minds vanished in one glorious blast of fire. Our spirits rose, and the lingering shadows of doubt fled before our radiant joy.
Oh, to see the sun again. To bask in its warm glow, the freezing cold of moments prior just a fleeting memory, soon to be forgotten. To shower in its golden light, and feel our hearts begin to beat again. I had forgotten what a miracle it was, the sun.
Our mood at its peak, we trekked along the mountainsides, no fear of the unknown left in our chest. We went to fish again, laughing merrily, as we watched the seagulls swallow whole the waste of our catch. Gazing upon the jagged shoreline, interspersed with peaks rising from the ocean depths, we saw the moon rise, pale at first, then in full glory. Basked in the dim light of dawn and dusk (there is a mere hour between the two where we are now), the landscape left us speechless. It was as if someone had filled up the vales and valleys of a gigantic mountain-range with water. Even as I try to describe it, I know my words can be no more than a pale echo of the beauty I now behold.
Talking softly, rocked by the gentle tunes of the sea, we could but wonder why men would give up these lands to go live in the unforgiving grey of modern cities. Forgotten was the cold, the rain, the sleepless nights. Only wonder remained, wonder of what we saw, and wonder at those who did not care, did not dare to see the same. Even the mosquitos now seemed friendly and tame, a small, gentle reminder that nothing was without its due.
As I sit here on my rocky outcrop, watching the ocean stretch before me, I feel at peace. I feel at peace like I had not for a long time.


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