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When I Was a Glacier
A moment ago I moved
From “When I Was A Glacier” by Emily Skillings
something (not particularly
large) to the other side
of the table and felt
so old and immense
and in control.
When I was a glacier I felt larger than life itself. I felt old, immense, and in control. I was a mile deep and my beautiful face shown in the sun. I was crisp and endless blue. I was quiet as a distant freight train. I was tall as a sky and boundless as an ocean. I kept secrets underneath it all. Secret power. Secret joy. Secret desire. Secret understanding. I was multitudes. I knew art and science. I knew fact and fiction. I knew good and bad. I knew up and down. I knew start and stop. I knew past, present, and future. I knew it all and remembered. All air, water, and stories were my own.
That was back when I was a glacier. Now I am far less content to know everything, curiosity and openness serve me well. Now I am far less likely to stay crisp and endless blue, opting for my depth. Now I am far more concerned with what happens underneath. Glaciers are humble. Now I am far more humble. And vulnerable. And sensitive. That makes sense in the way one degree can turn ice to water.
About Katie
Born in Louisville. Live in Atlanta. Curious by nature. Researcher by education. Writer by practice. Grateful heart by desire.
Buy the Book!
The Stage Is On Fire, a memoir about hope and change, reasons for voyaging, and dreams burning down can be purchased on Amazon.