The solstice does not go unnoticed in sun-shy countries.
The radio, still useful here, is the imaginary lines that connect the constellations of small bush villages.
The stars are small clusters of very cold people. They wear parkas that triple their mass.
They speak softly into telephones, transmitted and broadcast.
The life of whales and moose.
The life of vast and persisting shadow and ice.
Hours of wishes get logged and transmitted.
I can tune in, you can tune in.