On a cool morning in August 2024, I sat on the edge of Phantom Lake, writing in my mini spiral notepad about glacial landscapes, reflecting on them as the origin of life. Glaciers cling to the sides of peaks, melting into small black and gray streams that flow into alpine lakes, creating a landscape that feels both primordial and alien. From there, the water flows into creeks, cascades over waterfalls, crashes down chutes, glides through meadows, and fosters exponential life along the way. “The creation of ages melts into the bloodstream of existence.” Eventually, it reaches us in the plains, ready for our consumption and use (or abuse).
At the lake’s edge, I used my nearly 20 year-old Katadyn pump to filter water, a tool I’ve trusted since my youth. I thought about the water’s journey from the glaciers, passing over rocks and obstacles that act as a natural filtration system, purifying it, and adding minerals from the earth.
These thoughts felt familiar, reminding me of a poem or reflection I’d written in high school about glaciers and time—the enduring power of nature and its constant, shaping presence.
I found in my bookcase a copy of the poem:
A Glacial Marvel
Directly above the mass of rock dominating the surrounding topography, an illuminated crescent filters through the atmosphere. Brilliantly, the arctic landscape reflects the intensity, creating a spectrum of blinding light. At the source of the spectacle, encircled by spires, the glittering edge of a great glacier shines, wedged in the womb of the colossal mountain. Darkness retreats into the peaks as the light source glides up through the cosmos, producing a decorative glare revealing the vast landscape, giving renewed birth to the iced wonder. The silky celestial beams soak into the frozen slumber, awakening the ancient origin of such beauty. In centuries of sedentary silence, the marvel has continuously quarreled with the temperate sun.
Progressing in synchronization, time follows warmth. The duo smirks upon the defenseless glacier. Months, years, and decades, all part of the continuing process, night and day, cooling and warming. In all measurements of time, the frigid behemoth has been overruled by the fiery star’s spray of heat. What the glacial mass loses will not be regained. Lofty, thin air allows the sleek beams of light to infiltrate the glacier, weeping opaque undulating streams that spread elegantly down the terrain.
With the gracefulness of eternity, warmth overcomes cold, and luminosity conquers darkness. The creation of ages melts into the bloodstream of existence. Appearing immortal and ageless, such a wonder seemingly should live everlastingly, but the structure reduces in conjunction with the ages and the elements. Inevitably, the cycle of creation holds the power of destruction, an inescapable process. What once was formed will be transformed, as every piece of matter atrophies to the simplest form under the supremacy of nature.
Owen
2007
I wrote A Glacial Marvel when I was 16 years old. Finding it now, at 34, and reading it again made me realize how connected I felt to the earth in my youth. I accepted the power of nature over our lives. In my 20s, I drifted from that connection to nature, pulled into a darker life focused on career identity and control, losing touch. But fortunately, “With the gracefulness of eternity, warmth overcomes cold, and luminosity conquers darkness.“
Cover photo: Glacier on Mount Baker, Washington. Photograph by Owen, June 2023