Out of whose womb came the ice?
And the hoary frost of Heaven, who
hath gendered it?
The waters are hid as if with a stone
And the face of the deep is frozen. Job 38: 8-9
The Icebergs, 1861 Frederic Edwin Church
Over the ice the moonlight flows, and
is thrown back gleaming . . . A strange
Nirvana-like beauty, as if from
another, extinct planet made of shining
white marble . . . and everything so silent,
so frighteningly silent, like the great
silence that will arrive one day, when
the world will once more be desolate
Fridtjof Nansen, Diaries of the