Posted on

Spring in Coldfoot

Quietly standing, like gold the old miners cabin glistens. Bright rays of sun dance off the gassy sodden roof. Only the rusty old stove pipe and weathered spruce logs refuse to yield the glimmer. The willows, perched high, sway softly with the breeze. Their buds of new growth beckon the oncoming season. An amber sea of last years grass rustles with anticipation. Only the tall standing spruce carry the green colors form last year.

The sun bakes down on an ice laden river. It struggles for rebirth. The challenge is met with eagerness as chunks tumble into the current. The sparkling crystals of ice are set forth on a meandering journey to sea.

Snow capped mountains reach for a happy blue sky. And floating lazily in its midst is the tell tale sign of spring. A mosquito buzzes aimlessly, assuring a new season is about to begin.