Z or Dead
Winter marches on through storms and through clear crisp days of darkness. On a windy, cloud covered day the sky is shrouded and the only light available to navigate the dark ice is the lights of the platforms and the dim pool cast by a head torch. Looking out over this one sees a ghostly collections of building, bright on islands of light, surrounded by darkness. Here and there small sparks pass along handlines, people walking to work or observing the weather.
With the skies clear, though, the picture changes. Stars rule the sky and throw their dim light onto the icy plain. People, flags or barrels, disappear into the gloom of the distance, but the shape of the world around remains distinct. Clouds hovering to the north over churning sea ice catch the dim glimmers of the faint twilight of midday.
And then another storm fires into action. The sun bursts with violent energy, streaming particles towards the earth, these collect in the lee of our protective magnetic field, then spiral in at the poles to collide with the highest reaches of the atmosphere. Dancing, flowing dreams of light fill the sky. Knots and sheets and pulsing bursts of green, fringed with reds or purples. Buildings and masts dark against the grey-green of the glow.
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