The truck that got me here is a warm memory, and now, twenty below, numb feet, useless wool coat, rifle, and this-up down, up down on ​Misty​, the horse​, trudging in this snow​​. I wonder, ​in ten years, will the Inuits still have fifty words for snow? Will they have the word for a delicate snow​ sculpted corsage ​that is pinned to a girl's​ whale parka and sealed with an Eskimo kiss?