What we spotted first was a trail of tangerine peels in the ice,
the orange forcing its gleefulness into our vision.
The air smelled of cocoa and rice;
nature’s deliciousness luring us further with precision.
Neither one of us had ever seen anything of the like.
The skies were white, the ground was white;
everything in sight was white.
A blanket of nettle cloth was thrown in a haste,
with an incomprehensible intention, this pattern of wrinkles,
this desert of snow; all pressed under its weight gone to waste.
As we progressed with brave steps,
the fields extended themselves into the unknown.
The mist, demanding in its stoicism and depths,
in invisibility, what will be shown?