“ Whispers of the blue hour ”
- Daniel Owl -
Winter pastel hues begin to brush the Icelandic sky, yet the moon refuses to fade. It remains there, a silent witness watching us from above
A new path carved in water. Leaving the shore behind to embrace the uncertainty of the horizon
In the end, only the trace of our passage remains. A flicker of colour in the vastness, before the sky becomes just sky again.
