"In 1897, pioneering Swedish balloonist Salomon August Andrée and two companions took off for the north pole in a hot air balloon. In 1930 their bodies were found, along with records of their expedition." via MetaFilter
Reading the tale of their wondrous and hopeless adventure (and looking at the photos they took) really cast a spell over me. Those last two months together wandering the ice after the balloon crashed, keeping each other company and persisting onward long after you'd think death would have been inevitable-- it's perhaps the best and worst of everything life has to offer a man.
And tonight I am just here, with a book to read and not much else to do, no polar bears to eat or sheets of ice to climb. Life may be too short for our tastes most of the time, but it can also be too long by half.
I've drawn The Hierophant two days in a row. Apparently I didn't learn whatever lesson I was supposed to learn yesterday...