I traipsed through a forest where each and everything, every tribe, every species of flower, every leaf, was encrusted in a flame of ice. Twigs, barely thicker than a toothpick and solidified as finger-long ice borders, crumbled under my feet like delicate art works made of Murano glass. The coat of fire-ice sticking to things looked like those speed lines with which comic book artists indicate that something is moving very fast through the image. In this forest it seemed as if time had come to a halt and thereby left a kind of skid mark on everything and everyone. The air was filled with a light clangour, the sound of ice nails breaking away from the trees, falling to the ground and sliding over the pile of already fallen ice pins. Rain, wind and cold had played together here in a way that struck me as being unique. I no longer recognised the world that I had only just traversed – but I imagined that it was an unmitigated privilege to be in this place at this moment.
First Publication: ??-??-????