The arctic air rolls north, perpetual like a vacuum sucking snow from southern lands. My back is against a steady breeze, lively in my venture.
This time of year, there is all-day illumination here, caught between the pastures of playtime and constantly forgetting what time to go to bed.
I awake each morning; thick shades mask the sun.
When will it be time to go out and see the moon shine on snow banks and Moose tracks?
by M. R. Carter of Hagerstown
