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  • Sometimes her eyes are frozen lakes to skate upon, depths shut off by a thickening layer of blue solitude. If you're willing to wait for spring to melt her, you may be rewarded with blues to dive into, but keep in mind that as soon as the buds burst she's off to the north, to the coast and the cold and the core of the curse that holds her captive.

    She is a hothead all right, a volcanic island, towering above the roaring ocean. Her distrust runs deep and her surface is paper thin you know, and sometimes the magma erupts, but don't be afraid. Brush off the snow, come inside. Her country is more than you dreamed it could be.


    You're an explorer, you venture far into uncharted landscapes carrying nothing but curiosity and fear. You may wake up one day to find that you have gained more than you ever wanted to own. Are you richer for it, are you poorer? Has she taken something from you, this frozen island, or has she provided you with a tool for further navigation?

    Sometimes she's gone in the blink of an eye, a volatile substance when she wants to be. Sometimes she'll choose to emerge from the mist and be buoy and haven. There are shipwrecks all along her coastline, random castaways clinging to her rocks. Inaccessible, yes, and so inhospitable, so cold, so far beyond all reasonable itineraries.

    Maybe she's the horizon you set sail for when you have nowhere else to go. Maybe she's the landscape you carry inside.
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