the angry mouth opened as the sea ice cracked a smile
Here, it is a crisp morning. I'm on a cliffside on the edge of an Antarctic volcanic island that stands still as the moving sea ice crashes into it, breaking apart. Every day, there is a new shape, a new angry smile in the ice, a new series of cracks and folds and a ripping of ice that you can feel before you hear it. The penguins would lounge about, and occasionally make silly gaits over to the water for a quick dip and snack, like Floridians on a cruise.
Near Scott Base, New Zealand