Thinking of those readers who spend summers around Tucquala Lake…you know this place. Five and a half feet of snow at the guard station, which doesn’t seem like that much for this time of year. Ate lunch on the porch. Absolutely still and peaceful under the sort of gossamer sky that precedes a warm front. I wanted to stay for days, for the quiet and simplicity and star gazing. I wished for white paper and a small inky brush so that I could record an impression of the snowy trees. I wished for skis to float and glide over the invisible meadows. I wished to examine the lichens dripping from the subalpine firs, and I wished to go to the end of the trail.
I found myself unprepared to bring any of these wishes to fruition, so got back on the snowmobile to burn a couple gallons of gas and fly as fast as I dared toward home.