michaelboy: (Default)
michaelboy ([personal profile] michaelboy) wrote2025-01-05 08:14 pm

The hut at Cape Evans



As hard and frozen as the ground gets gets, it makes me think if I crashed into it, it would be winter-hard with only a few tufts of dry snow hiding the sharpest parts from my knees and other vulnerable bits.

It's as if winter,unforgiving and knowing, will never end -- dimensionally or chronologically.

Yet, it does, always.

Scott, in his desperation on return, was only eleven miles away from preservation on the Ross shelf and hadn't even realized it.

* * *

There were no signs of a fire to be made, and, besides, never in the dog's experience had it known a man to sit like that in the snow and make no fire. As the twilight drew on, its eager yearning for the fire mastered it, and with a great lifting and shifting of forefeet, it whined softly, then flattened its ears down in anticipation of being chidden by the man. But the man remained silent.

~ From: To Build a Fire, Jack London
tactilemuse: (Default)

[personal profile] tactilemuse 2025-01-07 10:18 am (UTC)(link)
When winter is unforgiving, I step in to take its place as Spring. Forgiving, hopeful, and soft as mud. xo