There is nothing sweeter than the very earliest days of winter. Still, not a layer of snow has made home on the ground. Instead thick layers of frost coat branches and grass in the morning, and fade only in the sunlit spots by late afternoon. Coho and I curl up on the couch and read books and play. Well... she plays. I scold her for biting too hard and then persuade her to quit playing and lay down for a belly rub instead. Of course, then she insists I continue until eventually she decides it's time to go outside and play in the cold by herself. The woodstove crackling in the morning is becoming more and more welcoming- and although I still have a few tasks to do before snow breaks- I'm beginning to be quite fond of the idea of the white stuff arriving.
Woodstove Incense
The winter winds are slowly closing in on the tundra. Even yesterday, as we ventured up the frozen slough, they would catch peices of ice light enough to slide across the glass and push them down the water nearly as fast as they could go. The bald eagles seem to be the only ones strong enough to soar in such strong gusts. I did see a flock of late snow geese fly over, cackling happily at how fast they were going with the north wind helping them along. But the ravens, chickadees, and seagles have all but settled in for a while. I'm with them. My knit sweaters are looking more and more appealing and the smell of the woodstove is becoming my newest home incense.
Newfrozen Ice Music
We ventured off on our last boat ride of the season today. The temperatures have reached well below freezing so all creeks and waterside areas have begun to ice over. As we turned into the clearwater slough that we often paddle through to admire the scenery- we were greeted by a sheet of welcoming frozen water. Our boat, fortunately, was strong enough to break through. So we explored up even further into our loving autumn scenery. Permanent snow is yet to fall, so the dead leaves, grass, and bare trees are still the only thing we have to gaze upon. But I wasn't doing much gazing- rather listening. Ice makes such a unique music when touched by rushing water. It clinks and chatters and sings it's own sweet little song. I closed my eyes for a majority of the ride and just listened to the beat. The beat of winter on the water, the beat that one can only hear for one or two days a year.
Across The Northern Sky
The aurora in my western Alaska home is not always as evident as it is in the center and northern parts of Alaska. But as I escaped my front door this evening I was greeted with a sight to behold. The green haze stretched completely from east to west across the northern sky. They were moving so slowly and gracefully tonight. I love when they dance to a slow moon song. You can watch and it looks as if they are standing still- but when you blink for just a second somehow they entirely change. It's unquestionable that they are utterly magical. But at such times- when they sit still yet somehow changing- they seem to imminate more inspiring energies than any other moment.
One More Farewell
You know that saying 'If you love something, let it go'. It's becoming truer and truer at the moment. After a tearful farewell to my white furry love yesterday, today I decided it was time to bid my seven dwarves (blackfish) goodbye too. I am running low on bugs to bless them with and their happy little faces are getting bored with the aquarium scenery. So today my darling took them to a small still water pond here in town and released them to frolic freely to their heart's content. They swam away with glory and although I will miss their cheerful peers from behind the glass- I know it was time to say goodbye. So off they went, to live out their lives freely in a place not too far from my cabin. And now every time I walk by such a place, I can recite their names and know they're looking up cheerfully at my presence.
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