A lonely, vast land, foggy horizons, liquid horizons, dusty horizons. An unconscious eye could not tell whether somebody lives here or not. For hundreds of kilometers, the sight does not cross anything built, neither anyone. It feels like a primeval land: no villages, no fields, no signs of deforestation, but amorphous expanses of grass and rocks and sand and water, mountains covered by clouds, violent waterfalls. Yet, a thin road develops along the coastline, and there you can start seeing scattered farms hidden by the moss, and then eventually a couple of cities; they stay though as a vague image in the corner of the eye. A doubtful, dual feeling appears standing in front of this silent landscape. Is there still a chance for us? How much can Nature still regenerates herself? Is She powerful enough to stop us before we consume ourselves? It is hope and fear together, it is profound obeisance and dolor. The catastrophe is out there, in the burning forests, in the polluted seas, but we can’t (or don’t want to) see it. It is confused between different sides of the world, between exploited lands and protected landscapes, in the slow (and maybe not so slow anymore) process of consumption of the planet. When will we see? The magnificent Breiðamerkurjökull glacier stands there, reflecting shimmering lights, cracking in the cold water. But the Okjökull glacier is dead. And many others have lost half their precious surface in the last 50 years (and even less). It is a call to Nature, to stop us from stopping Her; it is a call to us to stay and listen, the hope in the big silence, the hope of coming back in the embrace of Earth. A bitter hope that carries the taste of the already-written end. The certain end, but a magnificent one. Giacomo Leopardi wrote a poem in 1824 called “Dialogue of Nature and an Icelandic”. A few sentences can sum the story narrated in the images of this project: «Nature: Who are you? What are you looking for in these places where your species was unknown? Icelandic: I am a poor Icelandic, who flies away from Nature; and flee almost all the time of my life  for a hundred parts of the earth, I run away now for this. Nature: Thus the squirrel escapes from the rattlesnake, until he falls in his throat by himself. I am the one you flee. Icelandic: The nature? Nature: Not others. Icelandic: I'm sorry to the soul; and I firmly hold that greater misfortune than this could not occur  to me. Nature: Well you could think that I attended these parts especially, where you do not ignore that my power is shown more than elsewhere. But what was it that moved you to run away?»