Eighth Avenue

I’m out walking at 10 am, it’s the very bright slightly blue early morning. It's a bizarre contrast to the way I spent December: walking the dog around Kensington Market & then rushing to rehearsal. Here at Berton House on Eighth Avenue, it's much more contemplative; there are only eight avenues in Dawson City, and that's big enough for the moment. It's snowing slightly. I consider shoveling the front steps, but why do it twice? I’ll wait until it stops snowing, maybe at mid-day; my eyelashes are starting to freeze, so back inside. Early afternoon I head out again (still haven’t shoveled the steps); the sun is just starting its very slow reddish slide back behind the hills. I walk down Eighth Avenue to the river and follow the path alongside the water. Invisible dogs are barking gleefully and eventually a 5-dog sled appears out on the ice, coming away from the trees of an island. Three of the dogs are black and huge, bigger than the other two white huskies, making the sled very much an apparition. Whisps snow spark up from the paws as the dogs fly across the river.