penguins and books

Book-packing conundrum: The Penguin... Thomas Hardy... Thomas Hardy wrote a book called The Penguin? I've never heard – oh. Never mind.

We had a visitor from San Francisco for supper the other night, who mentioned in passing that there was a movie coming out about penguins, sounded good. Then I forgot she'd said anything, what with all the local chaos, till I read over at Inner Bitch that they'd heard of it, too. Not that I can find the exact link or anything, I can barely find my shoes, but there it is, an exercise left for the reader.

Anyway, they recalled to me something I'd thought on, last summer or so, when reading Cherry-Garrard's The Worst Journey in the World, and I'll see if I can say what it was.

It's summer now, mid-summer, and here the sun rises early and sets late. It's warm enough in the afternoon (and the word "afternoon" has meaning) for us to wish for more and better-directed breezes. In the Antarctic, though, it's dark. It's been dark for weeks, and cold, as cold as any place on Earth can be.

Somewhere, miles from shore, is a place on the ice and snow where the penguins are. Right now. They are shuffling to and fro. The lucky ones each have, balanced on their feet, under a flap of belly skin, an egg.

The very lucky ones balance living eggs.

UPDATE: I was wrong; it wasn't Inner Bitch with the penguin movie reminder, but Zh. IB, you're missing a corner of pop culture coolness. Tsk. Zh, my apologies!