Roaming with Peter & Marilyn: To and from Milford Sound

Friday, Dec. 24. I expect Santa is very busy today.
Overnight it pours rain, but it is just raining lightly as we head north for the two-hour drive to Milford Sound. I am well insulated with my hand-knit wool socks, long-johns and jeans, turtle-neck sweater under my cheap Peruvian sweater under my hooded rain jacket, my now embroidered sun hat, and wrapped in my Eileen scarf. Bring on the cold!
The drive takes us through farmland, bush, flats, more forest, and The Divide. This is the lowest one in the Southern Alps, but the streams of water dropping from the tops of the mountains makes it impressive. Finally, at the end of the valley, we drive towards a wall of slate which appears impregnable. The 1219 m, one-way Homer Tunnel takes us through the mountain and down the valley into the tiny settlement of Milford Sound.
I will post a few pictures, but of the Sound (which is really a fiord because it was carved by the glaciers that covered the land) all I can say is:
we are awestruck and overwhelmed. Rain or shine (we had both) it is magical. This cruise is the most wonderful Christmas and anniversary present I could imagine. It is an emotional experience.
For you who still struggle through my long-winded narrative, I give you these very lame poems, my response to a visual experience I can’t describe.

The Divide
Steep slate mountains,
new snow atop,
with water streaming down,
slender,
slipping, snaking, streams
glide, tumble, slither,
down the slick black sides.
Soft white foggy clouds
float through the fissures
dividing the sharp peaks.
One ray of sunshine
slips through the fog,
glides through the peaks,
and lights the wet green forest
in the darkened valley.
Listen. Thunder.
Water pounding
as it joins the streams
rushing
to join the sea
somewhere down the split
in the sound.

A Drop
What a shame,
here I go over the edge
to fall into the sea
and swish
the wind catches me
and hurls me up
into a mist
into a cloud
to float on air
and soon
to fall again.