Sognefjord
Even on this boat, on this fjord, there is someone looking at a screen. Oblivious to the passing beauty that will outlive our LCD: our acid and our own synapses. Overfamiliarity is no excuse. I got burnt today, in the wind below where the dregs of slowly melting snow are the glacial prints, where ice age fingers were dragged towards the permanent peace in narrow streams. I got burned by beauty that leapt from the sun and was magnified by every contour, every millilitre of pure water, every centimetre of distance travelled, every knot of speed, and every quark of every atom of every cell of my love's generous and radiant being. Beauty leapt from the sun, was magnified in those obscenely majestic ricochets, and left me burnt and tender. The Spirit hovers over the deepest fjord in silent sparks and seemingly random flashes of purpose. If you let the collisions burn you tender, those sparks w...