iced

At present, I sit quietly. I feel as though I am in a library; computers hum, dry recycled air blows against my face. Yet unlike a library at home, this space embodies a quiet I have not heard for months. Different from the absent silence out on the ice, this space is quiet socially. I am nearly alone. One man sits in the corner to my right, reading on a sofa in a carpeted kitchen cove. I assume he is a research assistant, also trying to get away.

I face a periodical-magazine display. The magazines are organized alphabetically. Beginning with Chemi de Erde: Geochemistry. Dozens line the shelves, propped at forty-five degree angles, tempting me. Their titles: BioProbes 45, EOS, Nature, Oceanus, Physics Today, Science. The last stack of magazines displays bold words:

Terra Antarctica.

It is 9:32 pm; 21:32.

………………



To my left, a long unbroken line of windows spans the room. The night sunlight, diffused by the vast thick clouds that nearly touch the surface of the bay, envelops my lap. The light remains so bright I consider wearing sunglasses. But, I always have a pair on; this one-hour without them is divine. A thin golden beam that edges the massive storm front above marks the white horizon. Hundreds of miles of frozen ocean span below, thick sea ice to the southwest, and a permanent snow shelf to the southeast. I mark the north.

A helicopter momentarily breaks through my mental rest, loudly humming into my hideaway.

I am still on the seventh continent, a shocking awaking, yet one that is my everyday. Monotony infused with un-forsaken awe.