Fresh, foot-deep snow forces us onto a narrow trail that winds along the edge of Mendenhall Lake. It never leads us out of the shade. When I look out at the sun soaked glacier and Mt. McGinnis I feel trapped, like I am in Plato’s cave. Aki sticks to the trail too, keeping station behind an old human friend. But she can’t resist taking a few exuberant dashes out onto the sunny portions of the lake.

The glom trail provides a good metaphor for the mood that has taken possession of the other human and I. During our drive to the trailhead, he received a call from a mutual friend with news of another death. This makes the third death notice received this week. I haven’t the words to cheer my friend. I’ll be heading south in a few days to attend my cousin’s funeral. Turning to the mountain, a white pyramid against the azure blue sky, we acknowledge that death is a part of life, which brightens our moods so we can appreciate Aki ability to make us laugh.

Aki runs along Mendenhall Lake like something is chasing her. I look for an enemy but only see crisp alder leaves cart-wheeling past her. Then I realize that she is chasing the leaves.

It’s a sunny day but we are in the shade of a small cloud that has taken control of the sun. Each time it changes form, the cloud directs a spotlight on a different section of the moraine. The cloud isn’t big enough to keep the sun from illuminating the glacier and Mts. McGinnis and Stroller White. But it manages to tantalize me with shafts of light that hit patches of yellow-leafed willows, Nugget Falls or a small iceberg. The light shifts each time I try to focus the camera.

Finally I figure it out. The cloud is my tricky teacher. After learning its lesson, I put away the camera and watch the light show, and the crisp shadows the cloud throws on the mountains.

The promise of sunshine on ice and yellowing trees induced me to bring Aki out to the west shore of Mendenhall Lake. By the time we arrive, the sun is ghosting behind a thickening cloudbank. But clouds don’t obscure the glacier or the sharp peaks that poke through the river of ice. They frame the beauty of cottonwood and willows that line the lakeshore.

Other rain forest dwellers are here, all apparently giddily from lack of rain gear. We can hear their happy noise until it is masked by the booms from the Sunday morning service of the church of powder and shell. My little dog freezes each time one the parishioners fires a high-powered rifle. When they stop shooting so they can safely check their targets, we can hear the yelling of children at play in an impromptu day care. I find myself channeling an old bachelor uncle and lead Aki into the woods where the ground moss softens the noise.

As a heavy rain hammers Chicken Ridge, the little dog and I head out to the glacier in search of some dry. But, we find rain here too at and lake waters encroaching on the trail we usually take from Skater’s Cabin to the campground. Lake fog and low clouds hide the glacier and dampen the willows and cottonwoods’ fall color.

The little dog leads the way onto a work-around trail and into the almost empty campground. Only three RV’s use the huge facility today. This suits me but Aki looks like she could use some dog company. Other than a few song birds, thanks to the mist just little brown jobs, the place seems empty of life.

The rain stops just before we complete a loop through the campground. No wind rises but the clouds rise enough to reveal a strip of glacial ice. At the same time the fog shifts, revealing the reflections of a lakeside strip of yellowing cottonwoods mixed with dark-green spruce. It shifts back before I can focus my camera for a shot so all I can photograph is a line of tourist-red rafts heading toward the Mendenhall River.

I wipe off Aki and leave her in the car before returning to the lake in time to see the fog part again—this time long enough for me to capture some of the beauty.