Break on through to the other side

You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side -- Doors

Soft cumulus clouds drift along the mountains parting occasionally to allow almost a full moon to shine between them, sending light among the trees which cast moonshadows across eight inches of new fallen snow. Two lines of tracks mark the passage of spruce grouse that have been hanging around the feeders pecking in the snow for the seeds spilled by chickadees and grosbeaks. The almost deadly silence of deep cold fills the air virtually palpable until the muted hoot of an owl threads through the trees from deep in that forest. A raven passes overhead, his wings beating the air with an audible whoosh.

Early March in Alaska when winter clings desperately for survival against the increasing daylight and warmth.

And just like the song, a beautiful day follows a beautiful night. Clear, sunny, the undisturbed snow flashing back sparkles, temperature rising into the 20s, all point to why this is the best month to be in Alaska.

After three solid hours of writing, one of those days of tearing hair out, nowhere near Hemingway's one good paragraph, but progress nonetheless, enough so that in mid afternoon no guilt involved in following the lure of the outdoors. Dug out the snowmachine, but almost didn't go, it was frozen to the ground. A bit of prying under the skis with a solid steel shovel freed it. Started on the third pull and off to the river. No one around, peaceful except for the noise of the engine while the mountains and glaciers all reflect the sunlight. An hour of that and then home to a milkshake and now relaxing into the evening.

March.