A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever
Globally, we are still in the midst of a pandemic. Not since the influenza pandemic destroyed so many lives as World War One was drawing to its bitter conclusion have we seen such an outbreak. We citizens of the world pray for, hope for, lift up, bring into the light—pick the image that works best for you—those who are ill, those who grieve, those who work on the front lines, and those who seek a cure.
After reading that paragraph, you might ask: why is John Keats’ famous phrase the title of this month’s blog? Because, after acknowledging the pain humanity is experiencing, my theme is beauty: the stunning, staggering, unique beauty of Antarctica. This month, I share some of my photos; although they were all taken on my humble cell phone, I hope that the images will remind us of the truth of Keats’ words.
Have you ever been so overwhelmed by beauty that you were hushed into silence? The silence I felt in Antarctica was profound. Not absence, but fullness. Exterior and interior stillness. We visitors joined Nature in its language of silence. Of course, Nature creates sounds. Among the sounds that demanded my attention were the groaning of a glacier releasing its ice into the sea; the affronted roar of the Antarctic fur seal; the donkey-like braying of certain penguins.
But, oh, the silence. Towering icebergs that exist multi-storied above the water-line, majestic in their size and strength. Icebergs, dazzling white or teasing turquoise; some shaped like ships or cathedrals or works of abstract art. The crabeater seals lounging on ice flows, enjoying their siestas, even though their bodies are marked with scars from previous death-defying battles. The leopard seal regarding the curious human beings floating oh so near him in their Zodiac raft, contemplating why we are interested in him. The minke whales gliding through the sea. The humpback whales tossing themselves into the air after breaching the water. The Orca swimming directly towards the raft I was on, steadily and silently, then, at the very last minute, submerging itself to swim under the raft.
Those who came to Antarctica with professional-grade cameras and lenses have photos infinitely superior to mine, but, nonetheless I share a few of my own favorites. Anytime I look at my photos, I am made glad—joy is restored—by remembering Antarctica.
(Click on each photo to enlarge)
