I am re-reading Roger Zelazny's "A Rose for Ecclesiastes" and gnashing my teeth in envy. I want to write that. Not that, but something like that. All my writerly ambitions, present in that story. Allusion and metaphor and a corker of a character in the narrator. An ancient civilization with a vast history. On Mars.
Well, it's nice to have ambitions.
(The link is to the text of the story. But please go buy it if you love it. Zelazny is dead, so I wouldn't call it a duty to the artist, but he has an estate. It's collected in one of the greatest SF anthologies of all time.)