Thursday, February 7, 2008


Like a fleet of ghost ships sailing north, the ice travels with the wind. I seek comfort in believing these broken bits of ice are children that the glacier has nudged out of her nest. Will I never learn to distinguish a mineral from humanity again?

They rise two and three stories out of the water and dwarf our manmade vessel. How deep they stretch beneath the sea we cannot know, and our ship’s crew gives them wide berth. They are mighty, and ignorant of their power, oblivious to their fate.
Enchanted by wind and current, they press northward. They lift their sails to the sun with the confidence of those who do not know that they are sailing into death. Each caress diminishes their days. How long before they have become so much a part of the seas they travel, that they are invisible to human eyes?

I want to wrap them in my arms and tell them “Stop!”

But they would only laugh at me, because I cannot grasp that I too am melting.


Tom Hunter said...

Dear Katie,

Wonderful post! (And by the way, I check back here daily to see if you have a new post).

I love the idea of the icebergs being children who are going Northward to their fate. I would love to see a calving of an iceberg.

Pretty freaky seeing that cairn there with the cross. To think that you would spend eternity frozen in ATA--mind blowing. Really great post.

Mary Grubbs said...

"But they would only laugh at me, because I cannot grasp that I too am melting."

...Powerful insight...

...Fascinating analogy...

JP楊 said...

Why are we so captivated by the figures in the ice. Like those in the clouds (which are only other avatars of the same element)they wear white. It's why we smooth white gesso over canvass, that we might better see our own souls painted there. But natures canvass moves and speaks, the sounds of our souls. And why did the shaman put hot needle to tortoise shell, but to see what was already known by her spirit, displayed in the cracks. So we see our futures in the cracks of the ice.
Just a thought on creativity, and I'm so admiring yours.
It's only the outer petals that whither as the blossom unfolds.
Thanks for the books.

kate keeley said... leave me as speechless as the clouds and ice. Beautiful words, breathtaking mind.