by Nikolai Windahl Robber of Gods I drank the earth shine To the very last drop I became supersaturated and Oozed light from every pore I Breathed in the dark and Exhaled golden fire I bled tears of joyous magma and Deep into the earth I melted beyond all recognition Recycling puddles of lifetime I returned to the earth its shine [divider] Finally Winter Has Come   Quietly, coldly and forming Storming, howling and blowing Snowily, deepening and whitening Skiing, laughing and smiling Freely, flying and floating Resting, smoking and drinking Sleeping, snoring and dreaming Finally winter has come…. [divider] Nikolai is a Minnesota native who loves the outdoors.

by Nikolai Windahl The snow out at Turnagain is deep, like really fuckin’ deep. I sit in class and cannot listen because I know when this power point is over I’m free! Running to my room, beacon, probe, shovel, helmet, boots, snowboard, jacket, bibs, gloves, snowshoes, poles, everything. All these items crammed into a specific spot in my backpack. Galloping to the car my things become projectiles as they shoot into the trunk. On the road, snowy, icy, no studs, lame. Death grip on the wheel and too many contracting muscles. Relax. Breathe. After about two hours of this process I find myself in the Eddies lot with one other…

by Shelby Faulconer The chills straighten the spines of       exposed trees.  Naked branches warm with a       layer of ice, granted thus by humidity’s       last attempt to leave water droplets       on grass blades, already a feet under       snow. And yet, the tree understands,       standing encased by moisture,       turn quick by temperature       to frost-plated statues, erected by       silent melodies of winter. A visible sigh, and one full appreciative apprehension to this spectacle of life. [divider] Marine biology and mathematics. You could say I grew up…

by Rosanne Pagano Tell me that some axis has shifted and the whole world is veering and then whisper, “It’s normal for November.” Go ahead, make it up, fib, lie, cross your heart and hope to die (but not in November; the cold earth is hard to dig.) Tell me November can’t last. Pretend somewhere it is spring and sunlight and my mother is working her crossword on the porch before lunch. Let’s forget for now that life is as predictable as applesauce on a cancer ward. Instead you pack the picnic hamper, I’ll take the oars. Let there be a wide sky, a big river, a broad silence. Just…

by Sarah Page Rays creep down the valley Through heavy, pressing clouds Onto the dark Gastineau Channel. Here, the world moves so fast Yet time has slowed. The clouds, so fleeting The waves, so slight Fill me with every gust As if it is known The body is but a thick mesh film Allowing separation, not distinction, From the natural world. The slightest crescent moon peers down As the eagles, gulls, and ravens glide. I too feel the breeze beneath my wings. [divider] Anchorage raised Sarah Page graduated from APU in December ’13 with a Liberal Studies degree. You can usually find her singing, reading, playing outside, or traveling the…