Fifth Journey Day 12: Threshold of Silence
Date: May 20, 2025
Location: Iqaluit, Canada
I walked along the edge of Frobisher Bay this afternoon, where the land meets the endless plates of fractured ice. The cold press continues to work steadily, not forcefully, but with an undeniable certainty. My boots made a crunching sound as they walked over hard-packed snow and small rocks that had been smoothed by many years of freezing and thawing. The wind blew around my face and pulled at the loose edges of my scarf.
The sound of the ice floes held me still for a long time. They moved and made soft noises, as if they were talking to each other in a language that was serious and cold. It was not a sudden change; it was a slow process of negotiation. The ice's layered texture—thick, gray-white, and streaked with pale turquoise where cracks revealed the depths—resembled brushstrokes applied one on top of another over time.
At that moment, I didn't feel like sketching. I'm just watching. The land and water here are so big that they cannot be controlled. The scale makes it hard to put it in a certain way. I sat down on a flat rock and let my thoughts drift away in the cold air. Gulls flew overhead. Their wings were outstretched, ready to catch the wind. They blended into the distant sky and sea, which appeared gray and flat.
Later, as I walked back toward town, I could see the shapes of metal-roofed houses against the pale rock. I found comfort in their delicate shapes set against this basic background. Humans persist here, small and temporary, yet present.
I went back to my room with cold fingers and cheeks. I didn't want to ignore the sound of the waves. The ice reveals a truth: change happens through small, ongoing efforts, not through noise.
