Smack in the middle of the week, we cruise the Hubbard Glacier.
It’s a wall of ice approximately 75 miles long and 1,200 feet deep.
The glacier is the most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen. The brilliant blue of a rare bird or a Van Gogh sky.
The blue color is an optical illusion. Something about the sun and the ice and refracted light. I don’t pay attention because I want to believe this shade of blue is real.
This blue, the color of a diamond or a lover’s eyes.
I drink a bottle of beer because I want to feel the chill of the ice inside me. W drinks a coffee with Kahlua.
As we get closer, we hear a noise that sounds like thunder and watch as a chunk of ice falls from the glacier and into the ocean, leaving behind a large puff of white.
We feel the repeated rumbles in our bones.
Ohh and ahh at the explosions of white.
Hubbard Glacier is an advancing glacier, which means it’s being replenished by precipitation faster than it’s melting.
The ocean is blue, too. A dark blue like a new pair of jeans.
Pieces of ice float in it as if it were a giant cocktail. I angle my ear to the water to better hear the crackle and pop.
I want to reach out and dip a finger in the cold blue water. Store the chill for those times I need to remind myself that I’m alive.
Today, I want to jump into the icy water.
And wait for the roar.
As pieces of me fall off, sending smoke signals to the universe.
Until nothing is left but the color blue.