My mind repeats the common sense message go to bed. On my path the Chipewyan elders are tuning their drums by the fire. They begin the heavy syncopation. Always clockwise they tell me. I fall in behind Abel, and try to mimic the stutter step that seems so easy to his many years.
Dancers come and go, but the drums continue.
As the sun rises I finally stagger to my damp cold bed. My mind echoes the wail of the chant, and my chattering teeth keep time to the memory of the beat. I still dance. I chant Chipewyan. I give up on the cold blankets and fall into a fitful sleep in the car.