Run on, boy!

I had a glorious skijor with the Tater Nation two mornings ago.  The wind was wild and whipping, Tate was running for the pure joy of speed — thrilled by his own power and cheered on by my calls to put his heart into it.  The chickadees were singing, the creeks tightly frozen and the world was a peaceful place, even when a pack of snow machines swarmed me like a flock of bees.  Sometimes the best way to wake up is to wake up in the cold, fresh, winter world.  I wish it could be winter always.  If I didn’t like gardening so much I would move to the Arctic.