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Field Notebook

Spring, 2010
Nef Glacier, Patagonia


(photo: cc)
(photo: cc)
The blue of ice deepens. Baby blue at first, it descends into a shadowy, saturated sea, a color so agonizingly rich it seems perilous.

A multi-story piece breaks off and thunders in front of us, slow motion tilt and burst, the kind of force that would atomize a human body.

Upon the ice itself, dusted slightly brown, the sound of water emerges from deep inside, mumblings in the belly of the glacier. Every hole and crack emits a voice, a conversation trailing away as water leads to water; capilaries and interior rivers. I stop over a moulin shaped like a giant's navel, crampons sticking so I can lean over and peer inside. It sounds like barrels of water emptying into a dungeon.

Some f the moulins sound like ship engines far below deck, some like radio static two rooms away. Streams and lakes lie beneath. Smooth blue hoops lead in and out of each other.


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