A walk along the frozen sea at –20°C feels unreal, like moving through a quiet dream. The shoreline is locked in ice, cracked and layered, whispering softly beneath each step. Fog drifts low over the water, blurring the line between sea and sky.

As night deepens, a full moon rises—warm and amber against cold blue tones—hovering above the frozen horizon. Its light reflects faintly on the ice, turning the landscape stiller, almost sacred. In the distance, the dark shape of a sunken ship breaks the surface, frozen in place, a reminder of stories the sea chose to keep.

Further on, the lighthouse stands calm and unwavering, its reflection trembling in thin ice and mist. No wind, no waves—just cold, fog, moonlight, and time slowing down. Moments like this don’t ask to be understood, only felt.