On our first day, we left the car at the end of the road and hiked to a steep edge, facing the valley that snaked into the interior of Spitsbergen.. Eying the textured rockface about a kilometre across from us, we noticed that snow patterns on rock are as imaginatively malleable as clouds.
“That one is like an african man wearing a head-dress,” said Finch.
“With a little dog nipping at his knees,” I added. “And that one is like a woman dancing with her child.”
We grew silent, surrounded by untouched planet, tucked together, completely happy. Inside the uneven rhythms of the wind.
After a few minutes, Finch spoke suddenly.
“We really shouldn’t be this far from the car without the rifle.”