Aki and I lean into the wind of a building storm. This morning the weatherman promised it wouldn’t arrive until 3 this afternoon. Yet here it is at 10 am, blocking our view of the valley with its snow thickened clouds. Behind us the glacier  and icebergs scattered about the barely frozen lake still glow several shades of azure blue. The storm will dampen the display with inches of new snow.

It’s time to move quickly for I am dressed for the rain, not winter but I stop to inspect a small blot of white on a willow branch closed up in winter brown. It’s a pussy willow soon to be damaged by the return of winter. There is no denying its soft beauty which makes my knowledge of its fate almost painful. With gloves off I can feel its softness and do, forgetting for a moment the fast moving storm. Aki stirs with impatience and and looks up with eyes filled with judgment. She can smell the coming snow.

The pussy willow is a fitting gift on this shortest day when winter reigns so I thank the willow for reminding me of spring. Then I feel foolish for elevating it from plant to sentient being. Better to thank the creator for the promise of sun’s return and for sending the storm that brings us this solitude. Aki and I have the glacier and its lake to ourselves.

Alone we crossed the dormant nesting ground of  Arctic Terns, now enjoying summer in another hemisphere. Alone we catch the reflection of cast off icebergs in thin sheets of water on the lake ice.  With only Aki I touched spring before it’s covered over again by winter snow.