Freedom and my backpack: episode 1 Writer: Samantha S. (An excerpt from Ian Joseph’s White Book) 背包与自由2/2 作者:Samantha S.(日记)(伊恩·约瑟夫的白皮书节选)

I didn’t know where I was. The bus stop had led me to the edge of the earth, or what felt something like it. It was frozen, maybe -25, but this frigid air didn’t take away from how beautiful the world looked from the horizons border. Winters breath carefully frosted over the boardwalk and the many rocks outlining the waters perimeter. Lights followed the timbered pathway, mimicking low hanging stars that forgot to shine. Effortlessly, white snowflake doves danced in the light, gracefully resting on the fluffy alabaster bedding below. Our footsteps painted the untouched canvas pathway that stretched out as far as the waters edge. Lightly, each step brushed gentle strokes across the newly fallen surface. Each stride required a trudging effort to maintain a constant time signature within each step, creating longer and more defined roaming patterns. In the distance two trees had stolen my attention. Outlined in a tangled web of colorful lights, I was looking through a kaleidoscope. We slowly ambled onto the cold glacial mount of snow and the wind cut our faces. We passed by the collapsed fence that attempted to contain the amount of delicacy behind it. A wooden staircase leading to a small landing caught his gaze. He walked to it, sat down and looked out into the endless glass platform. I, captivated by this new lens, walked into the darkness until my feet met the edge. They eventually came to a halt and I could smell the Arctic cover. Motion was still, movement came in undisturbed tranquil gestures as the layers shivered together. Rolling blue waves that once gently welcomed the shore transformed into a mirrored platform, now supporting fragments of hovering snowfall. In the silence of the night, I heard a gentle pressing on the snow as he walked down the wooden steps and followed me to the edge. Together, we stood in silence as we began to make sense of the transcendent view looming ahead. Shattered glass lay motionless, patiently awaiting the morning sun.


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