Omphaloskepsis DAY HAD DAWNED COLD AND GRAY WHEN the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail. He climbed the high earth-bank where a little-travelled trail led east through the pine forest. It was a high bank, and he paused to breathe at the top. He excused the act to himself by looking at his watch. It was nine o'clock in the morning. Omphaloskepsis There was no sun or promise of sun, although there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a clear day. However, there seemed to be an indescribable darkness over the face of things. That was because the sun was absent Omphaloskepsis from the sky. This fact did not worry the man. He was not alarmed by the lack of sun. It had been days since he had seen the sun. The man looked along the way he had come. The Yukon lay a mile wide and hidden Omphaloskepsis under three feet of ice. On top of this ice were as many feet of snow. It was all pure white. North and south, as far as D P J a c k L o n d o n 64 his eye could see, it was unbroken white. The one thing that relieved Omphaloskepsis the whiteness was a thin dark line that curved from the pine-covered island to the south. It curved into the north, where it disappeared behind another pine-covered island. This dark line was the trail-the main trail. It led Omphaloskepsis south 500 miles to the Chilcott Pass, and salt water. It led north 75 miles to Dawson, and still farther on to the north a thousand miles to Nula to, and finally to St. Michael, on Bering Sea, a thousand miles and half a Omphaloskepsis thousand more. But all this-the distant trail, no sun in the sky, the great cold, and the strangeness of it all-had no effect on the man. It was not because he was long familiar with it. He was a newcomer in the land, and this Omphaloskepsis was his first winter. The trouble with him was that he was not able to imagine. He was quick and ready in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in their meanings. Fifty degrees below zero meant 80 degrees Omphaloskepsis of frost. Such facts told him that it was cold and uncomfortable, and that was all. It did not lead him to consider his weaknesses as a creature affected by temperature. Nor did he think about man's general weakness, able to Omphaloskepsis live only within narrow limits of heat and cold. From there, it did not lead him to thoughts of heaven and the meaning of a man's life. 50 degrees below zero meant a bite of frost that hurt and that must be guarded Omphaloskepsis against by the use of mittens, ear coverings, warm moccasins, and thick socks. 50 degrees below zero was to him nothing more than 50 degrees below zero. That it should be more important than that was a thought that Omphaloskepsis never entered his head. As he turned to go, he forced some water from his mouth as an experiment. There was a sudden noise that surprised him. He tried it again. And again, in the air, before they could fall to the Omphaloskepsis snow, the drops of water became ice that broke with a noise. He knew that at 50 below zero water from the mouth made a noise when it hit the snow. But this had done that in the air. Undoubtedly it was colder than 50 below. But exactly how much colder he did not know. But the temperature did not matter. DAY HAD DAWNED COLD AND GRAY WHEN the man turned aside from the main Yukon trail. He climbed the high earth-bank where a little-travelled trail led east through the pine forest. It was a high bank, and he paused to breathe at the top. He excused the act to himself by looking at his watch. It was nine o'clock in the morning. There was no sun or promise of sun, although there was not a cloud in the sky. It was a clear day. However, there seemed to be an indescribable darkness over the face of things. That was because the sun was absent from the sky. This fact did not worry the man. He was not alarmed by the lack of sun. It had been days since he had seen the sun. The man looked along the way he had come. The Yukon lay a mile wide and hidden under three feet of ice