When I first came up to Nunavut, exactly 4 years ago, there were ptarmigan everywhere. Early on, someone told me something about the ptarmigan that stuck with me, that I thought of at the time as divine advice: “Never let the birds see your face. You can catch a ptarmigan if you don’t look them in the eye.” After a series of failures and disappointments, I felt like this was the romantic and personal advice I’d been seeking for some time. Never show your true self, sneak up on the thing you want or fear most, and then you’ll be able to trap it before it knows what’s coming.
I walked home tonight. It was 10pm. I was wearing sunglasses. The ground constantly shifts shape and texture this time of year, softening and melting and moving and freezing again. While walking, I kept my eyes to the ground to ensure my footing, because I tend to daydream and trip with some frequency. About halfway down the long road from the airport, I looked up. 15 teenagers were coming my way, all holding hands. Stretched across the road like a chain of paper dolls, they ambled toward me. Even from a great distance, I could see wide-open faces, huge smiles, wordless conversations.
Whoever gave me the ptarmigan advice was wrong. Always show your face. Always be open. Live in full daylight. Love like the sun will never set.
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