Waveless river water mirrors the sky and opposite bank. The trees whimsically echo their shadows to the water below. The slow to rise sun glows ever so slightly behind them. And I stand there on the other side peering across. The village is quiet. Our dirt roads are empty of traffic in the morning. Eskimos are slow to rise from slumber. I don't have the chance to walk alone too often. But as my darling pulls the boat with his snow mobile from the riverside to a higher elevation he leaves me to gaze upon the barren waters. I like the silence. Even the breeze isn't awake. The seagles temporarily nestled away. The crows fly quietly. And it's a beautiful time absent of even the littlest sound. Everywhere else in the world crickets chirp, finches sing, and frogs croak. But here, in the middle of the arctic, just with the humans, nothing wakes up till noon. Even the sun is late to rise. I like to wake up before the rest sometimes. For in my life quietness has become a sort of comfort blanket that allows me to think without interruption.
