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I've never looked a whale right in the eye. Really made eye contact, really bored into its soul.

I've never had enough time to see into that immense, glassy eye like a bowling ball. Really, they've never given me the time. Really, it's not their fault. I'm going my way and they're going theirs.

But I've heard staring into a whale's eye is a thrilling experience, an emotive moment. There's a connection. Communication. I've heard.

It's not like vapid adoration in the eyes of a labrador or the blank, winking stare of an iguana or the calculating, mischievous crescents of a calico cat that we're used to. Not like that at all. So they say.

That eye pierces. It's life changing, I've heard.

A behemoth mammal. Plodding along yet close enough to offer a salutation. Close enough to spot pallid barnacles like freckles across a flat nose. Close enough to see natural black rivets in the leathery hull ofa living submarine.

A dinosaur of a beast yet elegant. So large that each movement lasts for ages. A slick humpback breaking the surface followed by its boomerang tail gradually disappearing before diving deep.

The chance to glimpse that pupil is fleeting, passing. Just like the pod across my bow.

But for the chance to peer into that sphere, to share a connection, to watch synapses spark. Let that eye bore into mine. It's captivating, or so I've heard.

It captivates my thoughts.