A thunderstorm, a living painting rolling across the canvas in my personal gallery. Above me, the most stellar view anyone has ever witnessed. Below me, the most unique landscape Earth has to offer, free of gravitational limits, a seemingly alternate plane of existence. Unadulterated roars above the surface travel hundreds of miles desperate to be heard. Muffled below the surface, these roars become bellows, and the bellows become groans until they are replaced by the songs of the underwater world. A group of dolphins coordinates a feast fifty miles west. A pack of belugas sing a symphony of hope as they return from their annual mating grounds. Deeper still, a rumble emanates from below as a school of salmon suddenly collides with me. I become encased in an envelope, a sort of bubble, each fish on the meniscus always managing to keep a foot of water between my appendages and them. The moonlight ignites their scales, and it is as though I’ve been swarmed by shooting stars, raining down upon me in a glorious luminescent hail.
The most incredible displays of beauty are those incapable of being recreated. The images of perfection, derived naturally for billions of years. Each unique unto itself, irreplaceable, and like wine, get better as they age.
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