Here is a picture from Iceland on a May day, with one of the island's many valley gorges covered in snow.

The landscape unfolds like an ancient saga, carved deep into the earth's skin by the inexorable grip of time. The snow-capped mountain peak rises powerfully in the background, a guardian of the wild and untouched valleys below. The gentle touch of spring melts the ice in small, white rivulets down the mountainside, a silent transition from the harsh embrace of winter to the promises of summer.
 Between the mighty cliffs, a waterfall hides, like a secret hidden between the mountains. Its narrow column of water falls undisturbed into the darkness, like an eternal breath of movement amidst the timeless rock formations. Mossy green tones cling to the rough rock walls, a subtle reminder that life always finds a way, even in the most inhospitable landscapes.
 In the foreground, a lone seagull soars, its wings outstretched like a dancing shadow against the depths of the gorge. It is a symbol of freedom, a messenger from the sea, as if bringing with it the wind from the open Atlantic far away.
 Iceland, in all its rawness and beauty, appears here in a moment of perfect balance – between stillness and movement, between ice and earth, between sky and stone. A landscape of contrasts, where the unwavering power of nature meets the fragile beauty of the moment.