Melting Silence: Grey Lake in Monochrome.
I was there on a catamaran, looking north. The water was dark, almost black, under the heavy sky. Around me, pieces of icebergs floated like broken glass—sharp, silent, slowly disappearing. The mountains of Torres del Paine stood tall in the distance, their peaks dusted with snow, but even they seemed smaller, as if shrinking under the weight of time. I touched one of the icebergs with my hand. It was cold, wet, already melting. Mine was just a brief touch, but it left a mark—a tiny fingerprint on something ancient, something that wouldn’t last. The glacier behind me, once mighty, now cracked and groaned, retreating year after year. I thought about climate change then. The ice in my palm was proof—solid, then water, then gone. The lake, the mountains, the icebergs... all trapped in this slow fade. My photo in black and white couldn’t capture the blue that was once there, just like we might one day only have photos of what was. A quiet loss. A frozen whisper.