It starts up north . . .

To break the ice, I'll start with a poem.

The Arctic

My tracks deface the continuous white plane.
A brilliant shimmer overwhelms my eyes.
Raw wind scraped ears hearken to coarse pain.
Stiff legs, stone hands, a mouth of silent sighs.
The omnipresent sun, unchanging skies,
Shed light that endlessly cuts though chilled air.
Shadowed beneath protective dry skin lies
Dark frozen lungs that sip the atmosphere.
A bright ambiance feigns maternal care.
White ice and frozen blue heavens reach wide.
Deep water, dark space frame the world’s fear.
Upon the infinite unsloped curve, I glide.
The simple halo of the sun spins on.
I am a part of here, purposeless, gone.