Enceladus

The whitest world in the Solar System: its snow falls from its own geysers. In the southern basin four fissures run side by side — the tiger stripes, warm blue ice that glows at night. Jets beat from their floors in a wall a quarter of a kilometer high, and a wave runs along it; a jet throws whoever steps on it sixty blocks up. In the ice by the stripes lie greenish nests of phosphate rime. Use phosphate salt on a hydroponic bed: the crop on it grows twice as fast until the salt is spent. Geyser hoppers ride the jets and glide down. In the middle of the basin four dark pipes sing one song of four notes — listen to it. Under the basin lies a pocket of sea. Saturn hangs in the north, its rings a thin bright ellipse; at noon the Sun goes behind it.