It was a cold day in Georgia, but warm where the parson sat.
The Orca’s fin sliced through the water powerfully but smoothly and with only a whisper of a wake. The arching body drove smoothly, powerfully, at one with the cold waters of off the Kenai Peninsular of Alaska. Beside her, just as smoothly, moved her calf. Both broke the silence with the expelling of air through the blow hole. Quickly they moved beyond the parson to join their pod of ten or twelve others moving perpendicular to their course.
The parson paddled on, watching the shore line of the fjord for any bears in search of food. Only dall sheep, however, were visible to the parson’s eyes. Above a bald eagle rode the invisible currents, dipping toward the water here and climbing toward the clouds there. The parson fixed his eyes on a small glacier off to the left and began a steady rhythm of the oar to propel him toward the destination.
The pod of Orcas crossed his bow. The mother and calf swam close to him and paused for a second whereupon the mother seemed to instruct the child as to what species the parson represented. Satisfied she led the babe under the kayak to her family. The parson smiled and continued toward the glacier.
Nearing the wall of ice, a half mile being near, the parson stopped the motion of the oar to wait expectantly for the next block of ice to break away and plunge into the sea. Soon it did. The movement . . . .
Movement caught the parson’s consciousness. He opened his eyes and looked around. Everyone was standing. He copied their motion. Someone said a prayer. Everyone began to leave the room. The parson did likewise. At the door the church superior inquired as to what the parson thought of the meeting.
“Refreshing,” he replied. “Refreshing.”
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