Have I told you?
Have I told you that after RW and I eloped in Reno, we moved to Alaska to work for a rafting company?
Well, it’s true.
I felt right at home there, being a Northerner by birth.
Our one room cabin was small, sweet and shabby — our outhouse was stalwart and populated with desperate mosquitoes.
In the summer, when we were bored at midnight and still awake beneath a bright sky, we went fishing.
RW taught me to fish on the fly
and the trout were greedy, leaping rainbows under the sun that never sets.
I always forget about how much I belong up North,
until I return,
and it becomes so apparent to me once more
that I feel eternally sad and eternally glad
all at once
in my heart of hearts.
 |
[sweetheart oldtimers]
Alaska was, as always, so right.
So quiet. So still on my soul.
So reflective and so cozy with (such very good) good company (perhaps soul family?), good food and copious cups of tea.
A home away from home (sometimes, I seem to have so many of those…).
I’m glad to be home in Idaho, with my pack, with my ripe and earthy beets roasting in the oven and the West bench gleaming in the sunshine.
Life is so good.
Everything is pretty awesome.
Everything is pretty awesome.
Even when it’s crummy, it’s good.
What does that even mean?
Well, I think it means, there’s this small flame lit in my heart, most permanently, most unwaveringly, and even when the darkness descends there’s a light here and the shadows are made merry.
I don’t know what to call this light.
Perhaps.
Soul borealis.
Yes.
Soul borealis.
I go North and I miss RW.
RW, come home.
I miss you.
Take me North.
I love you.
Keep your boots together on your landings.
If the flames lick your heels, run fast.
Run to me.
And.
Dear Alaska,
Rise up. Always rise up. Wild and free.
Bright and lonesome.
Starfall and water rush.
Silver salmon and wolf howl.
Green flicker of sky lights and purity of snow.
I love you so.
xx
The Duchess of the Hinterlands
