Scientific research stations on Antarctica plunge into
prolonged darkness and isolation during the half-year
winter, and operate with a skeleton staff referred to
as the “winter-over crew.”
Night moves into the Antarctic sky every
six months, pushing researchers out. Stars
pierce darkness, watch over Winter people
sealed into crates, waking and sleeping
by the clock. This is a time for repair –
check for cracks, recalibrate sensors, keep
antennas positioned against biting
snow winds that steal memories away
towards a horizon blurred long ago.
It’s quiet here against mountain walls.
Ancient dreams crystalized into ice shelves
guard an ocean below. What did the ground
smell like back home? How did Spring rain taste
filtered through the leaves of a tree? What sound
did a hummingbird make, wings ruffling
the air? When the black above fades
into blue, the snows soften, release
their secrets. The Winter people let in
a new crew with its fresh milk, earth-dusted
apples, and no news of those left behind.
