A light show, pockets of illumination in a sea of ice where I imagine whales dancing and the light pockets the spaces where they surface to breathe.
The pockets stretch for miles and as far as I can see: a bright light surfaces, a single flashlight in the vast open. I imagine a scuba diver coming up gleefully after having witnessed the ritual dances of our mammal cousins.
As the lights become more scarce, so too must the food or call to open waters.
The sky is littered with brilliant freckles… Angel kisses. Perhaps the whales jump to get closer to the heavens. Some must surface and catch glances and remain floating in such a way that their eyes can absorb the heavenly bodies. I wonder if they play connect the dots as we do and have their own brand of constellations: Grey whale, manta-ray, walrus, kelp fields, brother orca. Do they find the same peace in the vast open, a cleaner mirror of their own littered landscape? Is it a place in which they wish they could meander?
The ice opens, the pockets become dark and littered with various freckles of myriad colors and shapes: squares, rectangles, diamonds, lighted parallel lines… Not ice, not whale openings, but cities beneath the vapor of water we call clouds.
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