Neko Harbor
Today shined. No, it absolutely sent us dreaming on beams of its silvery light. The time seemed to slow way down and in every direction, breathless beauty sang to us. The water mirrored back the castle-shaped icebergs and the cascading glaciers. The penguins reflected light as if they were crystal sculptures instead of living, breathing creatures. Our faces looked back at us in the water as we kayaked around the towering cobalt structures of compressed snow.
All was quiet.
Then, as if the entire world were breathing a sigh of relief, an explosion of air escaped the surfacing humpback whales. The purr of the penguins started up again and life’s celebration resumed.
Some hiked to the hilltop which overlooked the glacier and the ship far below. Others photographed penguins or kayaked around the icebergs.
Today the conversations were about beauty. How desperately we crave it, and how it lingers in us, as a reserve, lifting us to remember our higher selves when ugliness confronts us. If we could store beauty in casks, like oil for the whalers of old, our casks would be filled and we’d be on our way home.
Today shined. No, it absolutely sent us dreaming on beams of its silvery light. The time seemed to slow way down and in every direction, breathless beauty sang to us. The water mirrored back the castle-shaped icebergs and the cascading glaciers. The penguins reflected light as if they were crystal sculptures instead of living, breathing creatures. Our faces looked back at us in the water as we kayaked around the towering cobalt structures of compressed snow.
All was quiet.
Then, as if the entire world were breathing a sigh of relief, an explosion of air escaped the surfacing humpback whales. The purr of the penguins started up again and life’s celebration resumed.
Some hiked to the hilltop which overlooked the glacier and the ship far below. Others photographed penguins or kayaked around the icebergs.
Today the conversations were about beauty. How desperately we crave it, and how it lingers in us, as a reserve, lifting us to remember our higher selves when ugliness confronts us. If we could store beauty in casks, like oil for the whalers of old, our casks would be filled and we’d be on our way home.
