A bead of sweat falls softly onto the page of my book, just as I glance at the towering wall of ice just outside the floor to ceiling window.
“Geez. It really must have stunk.” I said to myself as I whipped another ladle of water on the hot rocks, the sound of instant steam melting my previous thought. I quietly contemplate what will be for lunch, before returning to reading about the famous British explorer Sir Ernest Shackleton’s final expedition to the South Pole in 1909.