The danger of an avalanche existed somewhere high up on the mountain, and it was our reason for not taking the dogs. Days passed with each window of opportunity shut out by the prediction of snow or danger whether it came or not. And down low, where we were predictably safe, a wrestling sense of affliction from lack of risk kept me staring at the ceiling.
Without a way to spend our energy, we opened our eyes to the winter darkness, gasping for air and spiritually freaking out as if we were unable to dig ourselves out of the suffocating weight. Not from an actual piling of once-individual snowflakes descending en masse but from an avalanche set off from within the confines of the house.
The torturous sound of ten bird dogs scampering about the floors without occupation, two pots of black coffee on raw nerves, and a ticking clock that circled the same 12 hours as it had every day of my life. Except on this day, it jarred at 3:48 p.m. (sunset) and, the slide into another early night was unbearable.
The coming of night in mid-afternoon is not the worst of an Alaska winter. A person can still be happy or sad with five hours and 57 minutes of daylight. The avalanche conditions or sunlight charts do not hold my fate so long as I take an extra serving of natural berry flavored vitamin D supplement and soak in the blue light emitted by electronics and energy-efficient fluorescent bulbs.
These were my tiring thoughts, anyway.
It doesn’t matter if the setters are pacing the house like caged badgers, their claws making the chaotic sound of seven cross-beat clocks, and the urge to restore tranquility comes in a desire to smash the face of the clocks with immutable fury and without harming the dear creatures making the noise. And, they must feel the same because any sudden sound from outside sends them into a fit of barking.
I laid on the couch “like a patient etherized upon a table.” The sight of the dogs all sitting politely in a row and staring at me made me laugh at myself and the situation. I momentarily forgot the snow blowing by the window in gusts and how the fractured slope of my sanity had descended with soundless expression down a chute of narrow thinking. Right then, I stopped asking the overwhelming question of whether to dare to disturb the universe or the mountain and pet the dogs.