When the
stars come sweeping in,
The day
is gone; the night begins.
Snow
whisper-falls on flying skis,
Mittened
hands brush ancient trees.
The dogs
are near; their feet are light.
Their
fur is smooth in the dark of night.
Their
loyal footsteps linger close
To me,
their shapes like great black ghosts.
The
trees leave us when we reach the lake,
A small
sea of dark snow in the empty space.
Footprints
of a moose who has led us since light,
Return
to the woods, his job done for tonight.
Warm and
dry I am in my good winter coat,
Only my
skis and boots are soaked.
But the
best feeling here is my face, chill and bare,
Out in
the night in the Aurora-filled air.
As we
fly over the ice, warm and cool, limbs light,
The joy
of the ski rings in the cold night.
A
snow-embraced cabin comes into sight,
I say
goodbye to the stars for tonight.
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