Mushing for the Fortymile
By John A. Anderson, Kenai
Above the hoarfrosted aspens a horned moon casts a
yellow glow through the bare and lifeless trees …
Bedding the dogs in the lee of a crumbling miner’s cabin
I lit a fire to ward off the chill of the Arctic breeze …
The dogs now deep in slumber, with the fire holding back
the night, I still cannot find sleep,
With the mournful calls of wolves below the mouth of
Fortymile Creek …
As the wind pushes down the trail it lifts the snow before
the moon making colors of reds, blues and whites …
All this along the wild, silent staccato, of the ever
moving Northern Lights …
