Seals of approval
I am in Antarctica and it’s the perfect day for a swim. The sun is blazing down from a cloudless blue sky. The ocean is so still it seems to have been composed not of water but of some silken, static substance — glass, perhaps, or mercury. It’s so pristine that in the shallows I can see all the way down to the pebbled seabed.
Others have already taken the plunge, including penguins moving like porpoises through the bay, their compact little bodies torpedoing all the way to the shore. They wade landwards, regard the scenery and, unable to resist that sparkling sea, dive straight back in.
The seals are out there, too, sunbaking on the beaches, sliding languorously into the ocean, poking their heads