Come in and join me, the night is cold. Come in, come in! Take off your boots and coat, let them dry by the fire while we shorten the road in the great northern dreamscape. Have you heard tell of the dreamscape? Maybe seen it yourself? It’s a sight that seers and binds itself to the ancient part of your pulse. It’s the full moon on a slow rise, while the wind whispers snow secrets. The bright stars and cold snap, as the ice takes hold in your nose, and the dancing bars of green and red and white and purest blue, it looks to me, the sight you’d see if God came to dance a waltz.
In the great cold night, under the lights, where the mountains slash the sky, we stand transfixed and see the night, that goes on and on in space. And what’s that i hear? As my hair stands up, down my neck, and on my arms, the wolf pack’s howls and their hungry yowls drift down the valleys rim. The cold possibility of the night stretches endlessly before us. The predators are near and on the prowl, the cold, the wolf, the broken leg hiding in the icy slip. Beware! The Alaskan Dreamscape is around us and she’s as indifferent as the stars in the night. But the Dreamscape around us is ours, we are part of it, the contemplators and perpetrators, of great deeds, of nothing, of everything.
But belay that talk of cold and wind, we’re inside now! And the fire’s pop and it’s glowing heart, bind us all with it’s ember spell, and we sit for awhile, and talk and smile, and rest as friends will do. In the shelter of each other, we talk like brothers, familiar and close and kind, and when the words are gone, and the coals blaze on, we find in our silence, all we ever needed to hear.
For it’s not the words and it’s not the fire, nor the drink nor food or smoke, but a witness to bear, the winter’s stare, and know that you’re not alone. To share a smile when things are mild, and share the work when they’re not. For this is the winter my cullies! The winter of the ice locked North, the winter that snaps and the winter that saps, it breaks and freezes your will, but find a fire, and a friend to share it, maybe a bottle and song, and it won’t be long till your vigor’s strong, and the earth is swollen again. For the winter’s ire, melts in fire, and soon we’ll wake and the embers are done, and we’ll rekindle the fire no more, the sun’s warm face will shine it’s grace, over the hearth and home.
And we’ll be content with Springs bright song, and work and play, and laugh as much as we can A summer will come and then the fall, and when the moon starts again, on a cold full rise, when the light is short and weak, I’ll kindle the fire, and light the candle, and draw my friend’s close to me.