Aki and I head out early to the glacier before the wind can rise on this sunny day. A dog walker turns into the closed campground as we pull up. His is the only car. Out of consideration for him and to satisfy my need to have offered beauty to myself, I lead my little poodle mix to the informal trail that traces the lakeshore. A light breeze dimples the lake but protected bays produce sharp reflections of Mendenhall’s river of ice. I feel light for the first time since finishing a week of lay chaplain work (visiting really) at the hospital.

If in London, I would let Mr. Turner’s paintings at the Tate lift me or listen to children play in a park. Here, morning light that illuminates optimistic spring growth and deepens crevasse shadows on the glacier substitutes for his masterpieces, robin songs for children’s laughter. Natural beauty backfills holes formed by settling sorrow.