Fluffy White Feathers

We found a sturdy black spruce that would become our Christmas tree.

Most trees by the bay cluster in tight stands for protection against the winds, but this one stood alone. We brushed off the hard crusted snow.

As we loaded it into the back of the truck, we heard three gunshots. I stiffened. But then I saw a flock of ptarmigan lift, scatter and dissolve into the low hanging grey clouds.

Moments later, we passed a man standing by his skidoo, his gun resting against his leg, turned towards the ground. A woman stood by him plucking at a white bird.

It was just 2:00 in the afternoon, and the sun was already sinking into the horizon.

“Look it’s started to snow!” I said. Large fluffy flakes bounced off the windshield.

It me took a moment to realize what I thought was snow, were tiny soft white ptarmigan feathers.

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