In between homes. Again. So I watched the ravens from our hotel window dance the slipstreams. Sweep over my frosty Yellowknife, circle spin over our empty apartment, our barren house in the barrenland. Speed cold beaks over the little lake, over the big lake, over my old paths. Over the hotel top to new ones, not yet packed down with Colleen-shaped footprints. Snow on the other side of town waiting for me.