In September of 1984, I went on a whale watch in Maine. During the three hours I was out to sea, I saw for about a minute the backs of two sperm whales. No breaching. No feeding. No calves. “Not sure where they are today,” said the guide, “This seldom happens.” I was disappointed. According to Wiki, an estimated 15 million people go whale watching globally, generating $2.1 billion in revenue. My 25 bucks attracted scores of seagulls.
I was reminded of that whale watch ten days ago, while witnessing a morning sunrise out in the farmlands.
I was enchanted, so enchanted that, like a little kid, I spent some time later that morning googling what I could learn about and from whales. In Secrets of the Whales by Brian Skerry, I discovered that whale families, like human families, take care of their kids, get dinner and make time for fun. Whales hold singing competitions (move over Simon Cowell) and one song is chosen to be the song for the whole pod for an entire year. Whales also speak the same dialect — a Morse code pattern of clicks. And get this — they play, “Game of Stones.” They carry rocks on their backs and then drop them and race to retrieve them.
Good Lord, whales are so civilized! We all could learn something from them, but lessons like these — like morning sunrises — seem to fade all too soon and all too fast. Still, I learned once again, the joy of waiting and watching and why I — in the words of Mary Oliver, “hurry back into the fields of glittering fire/where everything,/even the great whale,/throbs with song.”
The entire poem, “The Humpbacks,” by Mary Oliver, from which the excerpt in this post was taken:
Listen, whatever it is you try
to do with your life, nothing will ever dazzle you
like the dreams of your body,
its spirit
longing to fly while the dead-weight bones
toss their dark mane and hurry
back into the fields of glittering fire
where everything,
even the great whale,
throbs with song.
You as an attuned witness heard the song of the sunrise. I am delighted to awaken to your pictures and your astonishment. A big hug for a beautiful way to start my day. Love the poem. I had not heard that particular Oliver poem.
Thank you, Charlotte. I had forgotten about that Oliver poem and when I came across it over the past week, I felt like that sunrise had bestowed yet another gift.
A big hug back to you. xoxo
This post brought back some fond memories. One of my favorite pastimes as a child was to lie on my back and watch the clouds move over head. I would point up to the sky and proclaim what I saw in the formations above. Some were obvious, while others were exaggerations.
Your whale to me is obvious and the collection of photos shows movement. Almost as if the whale is swimming into view.
We will have add whale watching to our bucket list. It is quite spectacular to see them in their element.
Adrienne — YES, YES, YES! Let’s add whale watching to our bucket list. Also, maybe someday we can lie on our backs, watch clouds, point to the sky and make new proclamations. Nothing like feeling like a kid again. xoxo
What a lovely post with the memory of whales arriving with clouds at morning sunrise. Maybe that excursion wasn’t so disappointing after all. Now you are seeing whales in the sky!
Beth, yes, perhaps that excursion wasn’t so disappointing after all.
I’ve seen geese, crows, cowbirds, robins, starlings, swallows, meadowlarks, helicopters, planes, etc. in the morning sky, but never a whale. A surprise and a gift. What awaits?
Delightful, not only in the keen sighting of your morning eyes, but also in the diligence with which you dig into research and ever learn, learn, learn! The whole world is so alive within you, and I hope you’ll keep passing on to us all you see and learn. You make the world come so alive for me/for us!
Aw shucks, Carol. Thank you. Adrienne calls me “a sponge” because I’m always researching stuff I want to know more about. Hard to believe that the whole world is alive within me — both the bad and the good, I guess. But that’s okay, I have learned and continue to learn from both.
Such a beautiful, comforting post, Sharie. You must publish your pictures along with stories of what you see. This post is stellar! I want to read more. 💜💜💜
Publish these pictures . . . and the stories. Hmmmmmmm. Never really thought about that. But I have about 8,000 pictures of morning sunrises (seriously, I do), and each one tells a story.
Pretty heavy book! Thanks for wanting to read more.