Black dots on the horizon



The most innocent, softest shade of grey
their billowy down bulge at the bottom
Fat balls of fur, trampling fresh snow, skittering along
Ah, the flappy hands, the padding feet!
Life throws upon them without warning,
demanding resilience on the spot.

Snowswept, their fur caked with ice
they keep their beady eyes shut,
at times half open, eager for the return of their parents.
Bracing the bitter cold, the frozen hours, waiting
For the first sight of the nearing black dots, 
wobbling on the horizon

Them coming with three months of catch, 
having darted and dived down the Ross sea
feasting on krills and silver fish, dodging orcas and leopard seals.
Now trudging through an icy, treacherous terrain,
their sinewy feet making tiny, resolute steps.
Stoic in their jet black tuxedoes, unfazed by the howling storm,
they embark on the final stretch, aching for the joyous cacophony of reunion.

No food on the ice
the end of the world is a harsh cradle of birth, a fast place for death. 
The fluffy chicks knock their heads back, up and down, up and down
Trilling ecstatically
at the first sight of the nearing black dots, 
inching along the horizon









Light’s Interplay
Miscellaneous observations in proses and poems.
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