The Land that Time Forgot – Qorqortoq, Greenland

by William Bossen Photography

I sit here smoking in the land that I think time forgot.
The earth is nothing but glacier craved rock and wind swept fields.
Only life that grows here are hardy little shrubs, an artist spattering of
wild flowers there and about, and patchwork quilts of black and white lichens
atop the rocks.
It might be the most beautiful places I he ever seen and I’ve seen a few.
I love these harsh environments that nature still owns.
You know you are nothing but a visitor in these places with a painful and pleasurable knowledge of your own

How fragile we are in her greatness.

Enormous mountains and hills rise endlessly from the sea that birthed them.
Throwing them up high from it’s womb.
Nearly naked they stand except for the the meandering of greenbelts that
cover here and there, twisting and switchbacking delicately hanging from the edges.
Like a beautiful woman standing before you with only the sheerest and most delicate of fabrics worn begging to be
touched.  You can see her curves and features, smooth and pointed.
Nothing hidden to the eye.  I want nothing more than to walk through those fields.
Climb down into her spring fed valleys and scale those bare peaks.

As I sit here smoking I watch ice bergs
float down from that massive shelf to the north and dance in the bays.  Melting away.
Their massive size only made small by the enormity of the mountains
looking down on them.

The wind makes the earth moan as it
vigorously blows through the fields and down the valleys into the crevasses
making the water quake.  I love it here.
I wish I never had to leave.

If I didn’t what would I do?  Take up seal hunting and sustain myself on
it’s roast flesh and moss I could harvest?
Cloth myself in some better suited animal’s pelt?  Live in the little track houses that the
small and hardy locals do? Their ugly little homes doting the landscape like a grotesque overgrown version of lichen
on rocks.  Only terribly larger.  Looking more out of place than maybe any
other in the world.

This grand woman leaves me feeling alone and soon you can feel she will turn dark.
Endless nights of cold and snow.  HIding in burning blubber warmed homes
waiting and hoping the night will end.

No, I don’t belong here. Already I miss my wife.
I miss my wife’s light and the warmth that only she can provide.
Although nature here seems so vulnerable that I could stay here and fuck
her for all my life, that is all you could do.
I miss the warmth of my woman’s skin.
To hear her laugh and moan, not the wonton blowing of the mountains.
Nature she can not comfort me
when I cry.

I could be alone here but I don’t want to
be, not in Greenland.
It’s time to go home.