A library written in snow

I remember the first time I understood what you hold. Not ice alone, but centuries of wind, ash, storms, and quiet winters. A library written in snow. Your silence speaks of mountains older than memory, of rivers that begin as a whisper beneath your skin. I write with a sense of guilt. Humanity has taken much from the Earth that carries us. My promise is simple. I will keep speaking for the cold places of this planet, for the water stored in your depths, for the stories that sleep in your layers. May future scientists still read your pages. May children still see your light on the peaks. May we learn, at last, to protect the fragile balance that sustains you. - Alexandre Germouty, France