Up north, way, way up north, and even more north than that.

Siksasky puppies sleep near their mama and dream of running fast.

Together they're faster and faster. Together their team is unsurpassed.

Out in the clondike, the midnight suns summers, and doses but does not sleep.

The berries ripen, the berry sweeten, and the mountains tower and steep.

The blackflies nip and the sled dogs yep they pant when it's too hot to play.

The little ones roll and tumble and tug. They want to be sled dogs one day.

The rivers are green, blue, cool, and sweet fed by the glaciers melt.

Gold flecks wink where resting dogs drink and cool their husky pouts.

The whitefish leap far beyond the reach of pups, dreaming of ice, and of trail,

of following nothing but instinct and motion in their brothers or sisters tale.

Up north, way, way up north, and even more north than that.

Siksasky puppies sleep near their mama and dream of running fast. Together they're faster,

faster together. Their team is unsurpassed. The berries ripen, the berry sweet, the snow geese fly

while the husky sleep. The first frost sparkles hardens and bites. The leaves drop down. Now it's

always night. The darkness darkens, but also it's bright as the starry sky twinkles the snow

lights.

The snow falls quiet. The river's freeze. The sled driver chooses a team of huskies.

What the northern lights know, as they dance in the snow, is each part of the journey is the best.

The part where you yearn, the part where you go, and the part afterwards where you rest.

The sled driver in parka, with harness and line loading packages, provisions, medicine supplies,

who needs where, why, what the dog goes. Don't know. They just want to go. Go. Go.

...