The recent wind-enhanced cold has given way to a day in the mid-teens. Aki and I walk, some might say tromp, along the edge of Mendenhall Lake with plans for a large loop through the glacial moraine. There is enough snow on the trail for a ski but the slow pace forced by the snow cover leads to contemplation. Aki contemplates the absence of other dogs or even good smells. Once, after burying her face in the soft snow, she stared at me, as if sending her thoughts to one with lesser mental powers. I use my height advantage (so there little poodle) to watch a line of supplicants heading toward the glacial ice cave. I would ask Aki what draws them to the cold space but she would think me even more a fool. In time I figure it out for myself. For most of the year those without wings, or willingness to take the risky overland trail, can never touch the glacier. We can only study from across the lake, the river of ice’s blue color fade and strengthen in our ever-changing light.