The other evening when my daughter and I came home from a shopping trip, there was a documentary about whales on The Discovery Channel. I asked my husband, "Why is that whale jumping so high out of the water?" He replied, "It's not a whale, it's a seal the whales are playing with just like Juliette tossing her catnip mouse." I never knew whales did that...something to think about. Then, the next morning, I opened my email inbox to find the following poem in the daily newsletter from The Writer's Almanac. Earl
In Sitka, because they are fond of them,
People have named the seals. Every seal
is named Earl because they are killed one
after another by the orca, the killer
whale; seal bodies tossed left and right
into the air. "At least he didn't get
Earl," someone says. And sure enough,
after a time, that same friendly,
bewhiskered face bobs to the surface.
It's Earl again. Well, how else are you
to live except by denial, by some
palatable fiction, some little song to
sing while the inevitable, the black and
white blindsiding fact, comes hurtling
toward you out of the deep?
~ Louis Jenkins, North of the Cities
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