Snowbound

Winter has not died in the far north. While tomorrow May will begin, the snow is falling in Juneau. The longing songs of the Troveres of Provence about flowers budding and aloof women looking out of turreted windows on the Kalenda Maia are absent on the panhandle. Currently I await to know whether my flight is cancelled or not. If so I'll have to find an alternate means to get there. By hook or by crook. Or more likely by boat, like everyone told me to. I'm not wholly opposed to flying through the Alaska snow never to return again; it's how Will Rogers went out after all. But I wouldn't want anyone to play an inadvertent Wiley Post, so Ill just keep waiting.