When I was younger, the sky and everything in it was like the sea. The clouds were boats and often vast, sprawling armadas would fan out across the sea. Other times, the sky was a busy seaport with fleets of trading vessels, frigates, and exploration ships. Of course, it could very easily remind me of the future and of some large bustling spaceport. Clouds cans take on amazing shapes and sometimes, lo and behold, a massive freighter that you saw as child in some sci-fi movie is floating across the sky. I still tend to see the sea and outer space when I look into a cloudy sky.

The most vivid memory I have of being in Alaska almost ten years ago was the crystalline azure color of the bottom of a glacier that I saw dangling off the edge of a mountain on the Kenai Peninsula. I couldn't take my eyes off it as we drove by. I also remember how expansive the landscape was. Incredible. It made the vistas of Upstate New York seem completely claustrophobic when I returned home.

I thought about that glacier the other night while talking to this wonderful girl about birds. She was going on at length about some Macaw and I kept bringing up the Albatross. Then the Arctic Tern. And then the Bald Eagle. Which led me to Alaska. My mind often turns these impressive cartwheels and hand-springs whenever I am talking to a girl and there is a smidgen of potential for any manner of relation. And I will try and let the contents of my rather uninteresting mind try and crowd out the reality of my simple lack of appeal.