9:04AM
Three days now, dug in. The snow is waist-high all around the cabin. The news ticker shows a winter storm warning for the next 24 hours.
It's darker today than the other days. A good day to go out on the trails again looking for the wendigo.
I used to do this every year. I guess I forgot what it was like to empty my head out from sunup to sundown:
Morning coffee and granola; a three hour work block in pajamas.
Trails and sauna; jump naked into the snow (11-degrees here).
Shower and lunch; a four-hour work block in pajamas.
Dinner, a glass of bourbon, and a fire; a three-hour work block in pajamas.
Read , then sleep. In pajamas.
At night, the room smells like the cedarwood and oakmoss incense I brought from home, hoping I don't break the cabin's no-smoking rule.
But incense hits different than tobacco smoke, I think. It doesn't stick to things.
Another gust of wind. Snow rolls down the roof and falls in front of the window like an Arctic dream. It makes a distant thump, like something moving outside. Possibly the wendigo, smelling the warm marrow in my bones.
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What I’m reading: Man and His Symbols (Carl Jung)
What I'm listening to: Flumina (Fennesz, Ryuichi Sakamoto)
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