I know North is the direction I need to go because I know that eventually I will get to a part of the North that nobody wants to own. That nobody really can own. The cold doesn’t bother me too much. I know how to handle it. I layer up. Plenty of matches, flint, a cooking pot. I think of Dean but then I force myself to not. Move, don’t think. Or at least—think only about the next thing. And the thing after that. I quietly hope that there is some part of the North that hasn’t actually changed. Are there still some nice, law-abiding Canadians up there? Maybe that would be good for me, maybe it wouldn’t. If there are laws, there might be borders. If there are borders, they might not let me in.