Standing on the bridge over Kalajoki River, we watch the parade of ice blocks being carried down by the stream. Most of them are large. Their color varies between white and a dark grey.

- White blocks are still solid, dark ones are melted from inside and won’t last long, says Anikki.

All of them pass by fast anyway and my eyes can’t follow a single one for long time.
None of them will survive the spring.

The cold wind sings on my ears. Why do I feel sorrow?