It draws rushing water into ice.
Of late, I lament the expedition of Sir Ernest Henry Shakleton, whose venture to the North Pole ended in ice.
Frozen and lost, he and his men bravely attempted to return. They were lost at sea and ice and only found solid ground several hundred days after their ship, the Endurance, sank.
I know much of steam, of Geist and Spirit, of water.
But of ice, which surrounds me, the cold that flows in and around my life, I know little. Can the steam on which we depend also be found in the ice? Or is it lost there forever?
What Spirit of Ice?