The night is cold and brilliantly clear.
Peak after peak of glorius ice mountains
rose into the dome of the darkened skies.
Jagged crystal teeth queezed between
the depths of the jet-black fjords.

The mountains lost their sharpness and became
soft and blue-tinged as the great winter day.
Which would grow on to be a dim twilight
that glimmered slowly to life.

Above the peaks the Polar sky flickered with
the ghostly radiance of the northern light.
A frozen lake discharge into an equally frozen stream.
The cold is cruel and unforgiving like the landscape.
Up north.