"A beautiful winter morning, cold and clear. All of the fogginess and mist has gone and the air is as clear as the bluest ice. It must be forty below at least for on either side of the sun the sundogs are riding like two miniature rainbows, the kind of a morning when I would like to be on my skis skimming along the lake trails. The air alone is enough to make one long for action. Breathing itself is an exhilaration. On mornings such as this in spite of the cold I understand why people will persist in living in the north. South there is never the wild joy of living there is up here."
Sigurd F. Olson
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