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A friend on a visit to Antarctica ended in Paulet island, a remote island inhabited by penguins only. At that point she wondered to either cross the Antarctica like Ernest Shackleton or attempt a return to civilization as the shipwrecked crew of the Endurance originally planned. And while she sat pondering what to do she recalled the last lines of T. S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land.
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I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down
Next month’s post will deal with an ultimate journey. A journey no human has ever attempted or ever will!
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