Flying to New York City, I flew over the Arctic Circle. Towards, Greenland, the landscape below was magical. As white as the colour can be reflected back toward me. Endless mass of frozen water, rivulets and rivers streaking for as far as my eyes could see.
Over Greenland, this is what must be the meaning of Arctic Tundra. No sign of anything remotely man. I wonder if there were parts here where no one had tread. The environment from forty thousand feet above seemed timeless. I am sure that isn’t true – with climate change – and cycles through eras.
I write this as I drive towards Boston. Here I come.
Writing about Running 