In a letter to her brother, Léonie d'Aunet wrote in 1839: "Deserts have their own poetry: sand deserts, ice deserts, it is always infinite solitude, and no voice can talk to soul in a more stirring language". I've been alone on board for the last 7 days. I feel isolation but not solitude. And poetry? Intact! Inglefieldbukta is my haven. Vagabond give me shade and heat, icebergs all around frozen in pack ice are giving me an abundance of water. While my loud mouthed Greenlandic dogs, they know well how to crush the supreme silence of the East Coast. Some episodes of LOST are brightening up my first evenings on my own. Outside, a swallow lost herself in the North! (Sébastien Barrault, transl. EB)