Routine

Leave the city in the same frantic hurry that is sustained through all visits "out", following pinking clouds into the mountains. Let the mind wander back and forth between past, future, present, the clouds and peaks occasionally summoning it back to the now, calling it back to the beauty of this landscape. Drive over the Hurley, quickly, cautiously rounding corners. Check to make sure high-beams are on, twice; the black eats them so hungrily, here they don't travel far. Avoid the largest potholes where possible. Drive up into the snow line as it begins to thicken and sparkle in the high-beam light. Pass a few trucks, a logging truck descending without a load, pass a guy just finishing up his shift manning a gigantic yellow plough with tires taller than a person and chained. The logging just off the Hurley has kept it cleared for early-winter driving for people like me.

Stop to look at the tracks along the edge of the road, their trails just shy of the snowbank--rabbit, deer, some type of cat, palm-sized prints without claw dimples. It becomes obvious that the cat didn't walk the road for long before leaping over the bank. I saw a lynx on my way over the Hurley this past Friday. Headlights met its grey body crossing the road as I rounded a corner, its movement like a smooth band of light across my vision.

Keep driving. Think past, future, the present beauty of the landscape, the snow, the brand new skis in the back of the car, which would be back to future again. How beautiful the trees look with boughs waxed with snow. Snow becoming thinner until the ground, the trees are bare grey in my headlights.

Four hours after leaving Vancouver and the dimly lit sight of Gold Bridge. Pull into darkened driveway. Crumple newspaper and light wood stove. Start to unpack car in four trips--suitcase, empty recycling bin since I have to pack it out to recycle anything, refilled prescriptions, guitar, other odds and ends that are easily collected in the city, new skis ready for backcountry travel. Check on fire as I start to put two weeks worth of groceries in the fridge and freezer. Add more wood. Outside to re-cover wood pile; tarp has blown off in the weekend wind. Turn on kettle. Move plants back to their usual spots throughout the house, out of the kitchen where the heat was kept on to keep pipes and leaves from freezing. Run hot bath. Stoke stove with maximum-sized wood pieces, almost burn wrist.

Get into bath, think of past and future. Think of how nice warm water feels on cold feet.

Get dressed in layers: long john's under pajama pants, just until the recesses of the house are satiated with heat. The hardwood floor is last to warm.

Start list for next city trip: need slippers.