VALE of the whitening, who lieth between Heavy Runner and Jackson and keepeth the cup the ice once carved. He appeareth as a great trough hollowed deep into the mountains, his walls of bare stone rising sheer to the left and the right, his floor packed close with forest that burneth white as breath on cold air; above him the heights hold their shadow and the sky boils with cloud the colour of slate. His office is to gather the valley’s whole green throng and render it as cold fire, that the eye may look down into the place where the glacier walked and find it filled with the only brightness left. He gloweth from below while the peaks keep their dark, the chalice and the rim; he is the wound made luminous; he is the long scar of the ice, shining.
The words above arrive with your print, pressed onto fine-art card.
