Theme Thursday for 10th. March has "Space" as the prompt. 

Nordwand

What small misjudgement doomed him?

Weather? Being there alone?

Snow on the 'Spider' loose, wet

giving his axe no grip. He slipped,

drove the axe down again, swore,

slipped, slithered, kicked his crampons,

planed a white diagonal 

across the steepening snow,

unbelieving, cursing, lunging

for an edge, step, check, finding

no handhold in the dreadful air.

The precipice swarmed upwards

blurring past his flailing, sheer

into spinning space. A mile

below, the valley, sunfilled, green.

What galled him as he fell were

the lower climbers, safe, roped,

brewing tea in bivouacs

perching like nested seabirds

on saviour ledges, watching

his helpless plummet, aghast

that they were not him. "Bastards!"

he screamed, "The lucky bastards,"

noticed their bright Gortex kit

and wondered how much the smash -

despairing -"Christ! Don't let it hurt!" 

(Slightly left of the summit and about one quarter down the picture, the "White Spider" - a permanent snowfield on the North Face of the Eiger - can be seen, lying between two buttresses. About 40-45º slope. At least 64 climbers have died attempting the ascent, earning the face the German nickname "Mordwand" - the Murder Wall.)