On the edge of the world, where the Arctic's silent whispers carve ancient secrets into ice, I found myself seated before nature's grandest stage. Ahead, towering icebergs, sculpted from millennia-old snow, drifted with solemn grace through Ilulissat's UNESCO-listed icefjord.
They moved with a deliberate, almost reverent, pace, as if acknowledging their role in a timeless play where winds and currents, rather than human hands, directed their fate.
The icebergs, luminous in the Arctic glow, revealed a breathtaking spectrum of blue, turquoise, sapphire and, occasionally, streaks of deep, shadowy grey, before dissolving gradually into the crystal-clear waters below.
For a moment, I wondered if these monolithic sculptures might have been the work of some ethereal artist, perhaps channelling the surreal genius of Salvador Dalí or the bold minimalism of Constantin Brâncuși.…
