A raven calls. I am on Bowen Island now. Ungrounded. The bird’s throaty message takes me back a year ago to Dawson City trying to record their sounds. Walking the boreal forest with video camera and microphone, white birch against black spruce. The light of the northern latitudes. Before I left in late September, hunters came into town dressed in camouflage. There was talk of a moose killed on the other side of the river. Stories of the Klondike filtered through the headstones in the cemetery, named and dated. Young men. Young children. I was reading Anik See’s book of essays, ‘Saudade: The Possibilities of Place’. Saudade, a Portuguese word, loosely “describes a feeling of longing for something that is now gone and may yet return, but in all likelihood can never be recaptured”. A raven’s call.