Ned and the gang puff away, with nothing out of the norm,
as diesel burns the energy yearns to take its final form.
The sun is out the wind is low and Mawson is divine,
but far up the hill on the tallest peak sits our little lonely turbine.
Alone he sits high in the sky watching our every move,
twisting and creaking and trying his best to smile and not be blue.
For the turbine that sits by himself up the hill did not always be sole,
a reminder of his once friend to the north still stands on a rocky knoll.
The penguins are proud, the whales are playful and the seals lay still on stone,
as Orcas roll through in groups of 5 demanding their presence be known.
The animal kingdom is a beautiful sight here on Mawson shore,
but do not look away as the birds of prey starting looking for blood and gore.
The petrels twist and weave through the wind attempting to play hide and seek.
For the Skuas are hungry as they glide above with flesh and feathers in their beak.
The rocky landscape that is Mawson station forms shelter for smaller birds,
a necessity in life, a place to sleep and stay warm as the weather turns.
The Katabatics smash with a roaring lash as they whip and whirl in anger,
I guess some days are better than others in the frozen land of danger.
The blizz is blinding and the air is crisp as it rips through cloth and skin,
the coldest of colds a person will feel makes you want a cosy night in.
And if a night in is what the weather demands be sure to swing by the bar,
sing songs and play darts, tell stories of broken hearts and remember your friends are not far.
No matter what, there's always a person who to make your troubles be known,
belief in the team of Mawson 25 in need will carry you home.
Antarctic bliss you don't want to miss brings meaning to one's procrastination,
staring outside becomes of hobby of mine in this other worldly destination.
Colours reflecting off the water’s surface shimmer and dance in the sun,
Starring into the bluest of blues, the earth and soul become one.
And the sun will not be ignored in the land of rolling bright white terrain,
A constant reminder that the land we admire will leave us burnt and in pain.
The beaming of heat to your body from the ground will leave you dark red complexion,
So believe it's best to hear the FTO when he says to wear face protection!
Icebergs crack and free themselves from their very own glacial prison,
set sail for North, somewhere with warmth, melting an enhanced glisten.
For only some find their way out to sea in quest of permanent isolation,
for others come a ground on the islands around and lose all motivation.
A hauntingly beautiful metaphor for life some would possibly say,
or perhaps it's a way to project the feelings we go through day to day.
Breaking away from my 9-5 job was definitely my hardest decision,
But like an iceberg who made it through the islands I've been gifted with greater visions.
Lockie Scicluna, Electrician
