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15 November ~2009

Our backpack trip was cold. My boots and the dogs water froze inside the tent. Little Mollie crawled inside my sleeping bag around 4:30am. She doesn't have the thick fur Ben and Maggie do, and the poor girl was shivering.

I made a fire first thing, which took the edge off the frigid morning. It started snowing soon after dawn and I considered myself lucky to be up there witnessing that. There is plenty to be gained by venturing up and paying attention in winter.

 I took a larger tent this time, because of the 13 hours of darkness. I knew I wouldn't be sleeping that whole time, so put up with a little extra weight for some more room during the nightime hours.

 

Maggie taught Mollie that kinnikinnik berries are good to eat, and us three sat in a good patch for a while, downing all we could find. Actually I had not seen them until I saw Maggie sniffing along the ground searching out berries.

 

We came across the skull of a young coyote that didn't make it to his first winter. The evidence of passing made me appreciate my time on the mountain a little more. . One more day here is something to be grateful for.

I hoped the coyote got to enjoy this mountain as home ground like us four do, at least for a while.

Ben has the right attitude when he climbs on those rocks and looks around: He is the king of this mountain domain, strong and ready for anything. Life goes by so damn fast, and it is good to feel like that now and again, for as long as you can.

 

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I want to lie down in dappled leaf-shade,
In quivering shadows of quivering leaves-
be they oak, be they maple,
be they elm or birch,

I want to rest in the play of shadows
over my reclining form,
The massage of shadows
which consoles me in its way,
Restores for me
with whatever restoration
Flickering shadows of leaves afford-
be they willow or aspen,
be they poplar or beech,

I want to be caressed by shadows
of wavering leaves,
Soothed off to sleep
feeling the gentle breeze,
Looking up at the rustling
sun-drenched crown-
Be it basswood, be it chestnut,
Be it walnut or hickory,

after all is said,
after all is done,
This is the way
I would die.

-ANTLER