Glaciers don't care about your season pass

I'm climbing a crevasse that keeps getting wider as I go. Each axe swing opens a new crack in the ice, like the mountain is unzipping itself. The snow underneath me feels like wet cardboard, and I can hear water running somewhere I can't see. The whole thing collapses into a slushy pile before I reach the top, and I'm left standing in a parking lot with a sunburn I never asked for.