An even more glorious Antarctic day

Yesterday was iceberg with penguins, plus more icebergs, some bigger than the ship, all sculpted in ways that held the eye and the mind and the soul like good art. Does that mean art is meaningless or that the universe has meaning? Discuss among yourselves -- it may be on the final.

Today is even better. We're sailing on an inward passage among islands along the Antarctic Peninsula, the long finger of land that reaches out from the main body of Antarctica toward South America. The sea is quite calm, at times almost a mirror reflecting the stark beauty of snow-covered peaks and glaciers, letting us see some of the submerged curves of the icebergs, and highlighting the darting paths of penguins as they swim quickly away from the ship, which probably computes to "orca" in their brains. It's one thing to see films of little black and white bodies breaking and re-entering the water. It is quite another to watch them out the window as I drink my morning coffee with buttered raisin bun.

Some icebergs have seals on them, others have birds, and the cruise is providing a running commentary that names them for us. It's broadcast on the decks and in the public spaces, with optional access in the cabins via a TV channel. The guy is honest about what he can and can't tell us ("There are birds on that big iceberg starboard, but I can't tell whether they are penguins or blue-eyed skua. Keep an eye on them, if they fly, they're not penguins. "), with the occasional foray into silliness ("Those seals on the tall iceberg to port are crab-eater seals -- females, three-and-a-half years old, left-handed. ") At least, I took it for silliness -- maybe all crab-eater seals ARE left-handed.

It's mostly overcast, but occasionally the sun comes out or shines on the snow, rock, ocean, and ice somewhere where we can see it. Then the beauty is beyond speaking.