The South Pole

So, I suppose you are all expecting a description of the South Pole. Well, technically, I don't have one. I am stationed 9,300 feet above the geographic South Pole, atop an unimaginably massive and ancient ice flow.
These were my first impressions, as I related to my Grandmother in my first letter,

"I landed at the South Pole Station mid-afternoon (New Zealand Time) on the 7^th of November. The temperature was -40 degrees Fahrenheit and the wind-chill dropped that number down to -60 F. Massive columns of frosty air plumed from the planes, machines, and buildings of the station, adding whiteness to the blue sky, adding whiteness to the already white continent. I was struck by all the tiny, pathetic, patchwork buildings, working to stand upright in the face of the cold, wind, and ice. I was struck by the tiny figures, tromping through the snow, covered from head to toe in cotton, wool and fleece, standing upright, working and walking with conviction in the face of the cold, wind, and ice.

This is a grand place, in a grand environment. Out of instinct, my eyes scan the horizon for penguins. Soon I will learn that there is no life here. There is only the horizon, where the blue meets the white. And it is this nothingness that transfixes people; it is this nothingness that people stare at as they work and eat; it is this nothingness that feels like home to so many people."