Her features are familiar or so they seem. The river of ice known as South Sawyer Glacier meanders slowly, driven by gravity's pull, from mountains above to ocean below. From the deck of our vessel we trace the lines in her craggy countenance. Fissures tell stories of the passage of time, of a journey one hundred years or more. In a moment, in a blink in our lives, she stands no more but is someone new..
The signals are there for all to see. We learn to read the clues. Look for a cascade, a misting of snow, silently sifting from high. Then more, the volume increases. Snow becomes blue jewels and a column tips forward. Like a rocket plummeting downward, two hundred feet of ancient ice slip into the sea. Now the roar is heard above our screams. Deep within the glacier groans, comforting herself as she assumes a more relaxed stance. We watch, acquainting ourselves with her face features in an ever-changing world.
