WHITE BOULEVARD

ICELAND. JANUARY.

MINUS TWENTY.

THE RING ROAD HAS A DRESS CODE TODAY: WHITE.

Four hours of daylight. That is all you get.

The sensible cars stay put.

The others keep going.

Eventually the road becomes little more than a suggestion that asphalt once existed here at all. The horizon glows for a moment, then the North starts packing the light away again.

WHITE BOULEVARD.

Rush hour looks different here.

And, pleasantly, it doesn’t last long.