My solo ascent to the forecastle comprised the final steps of this artist residency – written in the striated condensations spanning the amber, high-latitude afternoon, and accompanied by the white coffins floating peacefully past the ship as we left the bay towards the open Arctic sea. I was at the boundary to the Polar Eternities – witnessing the white, icey death.  Since August, I had been preparing as continuously for this voyage as methodically as I had for any previous years’ future unknowns.  When I walked outside, however, the wrinkles in my cheeks harmoniously resolved the radials emanating from my eyes, no longer a symptom of any negligent indulgence, and I breathed the first air of my Second Adventure.  Even as tight as we were squeezed, sleeping in shared cocoons, and eating as a large families, we were all on solo voyages, starting from different places within a place, mine leading to an ending within an ending.