She looked over his shoulder
For vines and olive trees,
Marble well-governed cities
And ships upon untamed seas,
But there on the shining metal
His hands had put instead
An artificial wilderness
And a sky like lead.

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,
No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,
Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,
Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood
An unintelligible multitude,
A million eyes, a million boots in line,
Without expression, waiting for a sign.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Riveting, disturbing

Be warned, this is rather disturbing. A first hand account of hypothermia. But riveting if you can stand it.

http://outside.away.com/outside/magazine/0197/9701fefreez.html
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1 comment:

Kafreen said...

We are delicate creatures. I think there's a reason those of us who are cold (painfully cold) chronically have such a knee-jerk discomfort with the feeling. Worst way to die that I can imagine.

March 23, 2009 at 6:15 AM

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