When The Ice Breaks

greenland icebergs-933003_1920

Photo: Barni1 by Pixabay

 

He said he’ll be home when the ice breaks.

And every day she waited, one baby tugging at her skirts and another growing restless under her heart, and tried to not look at the field of crosses planted right outside her window. Reminders of the many who the frigid sea or dark winters or the loneliness of this place at end of the world had claimed.

Some days she hated Greenland. The endless nights. The gnawing cold. The monotony of the same few faces and the bickering that eventually picked open old scabs and gauged new hurts for the next arctic dark to revisit.

Other times she couldn’t fathom living any other place. Summer’s endless light. The sparkle on the water. Pups, babies, and not-so-babies frolicking. The wide spaces full of breath and warmth that thawed old sorrows into joy. It felt like coming home.

Will he?

 

 

For What Pegman Saw: Greenland

 

21 thoughts on “When The Ice Breaks

    • Thank you, Rochelle! I often wonder how I’d do in such locales–a part of me KNOWS these places, as if I’d lived there before, in some life time or spirit-form or other. A part of me is drawn to the solitude and quietude and vast expanses of sky and sea and simple rhythms. But a part of me is restless and I don’t know how well I’d do cooped into prolonged winter night. Perhaps I’d bloom inward. Perhaps I’d wilt. So … the remote realities of some North Countries speaks to me, in some way. My Norse/Celtic-sense, perhaps, in-spirit at least? Who knows. I’m glad, however, that my words here spoke sense … πŸ™‚
      Na’ama

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  1. You set yourself a challenge with that opening sentence, because straightaway we know what the plot will be. You don’t disappoint; we’re left with the expected cliff-hanger.
    Everything, then, comes down to how well you describe place, character and emotion in the story – and you do it magnificently. The baby “growing restless under her heart”; the field of crosses “planted right outside her window”; the claustrophobic society generating “bickering that eventually picked open old scabs and gauged new hurts”.
    That’s a pretty near flawless piece of writing, Na’ama!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I echo everyone’s wonderful comments for this fabulous piece. I could feel all her emotions and her love/hate relationship with her homeland. And you left us feeling as she did… will he?

    Liked by 1 person

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