An Ode to Alaska

Oh no, an ode, an ode to Alaska.

A place that cannot be described in words

Cannot be captured

Photographs, still life, moving, or paint.

A place that can only be Felt.

Seen, touched, smelt, heard, and tasted.

A place that must be run in, and swum in,

and rushed about

and sleep deprived in

A place that was meant to be Enjoyed.

One Giant Playground.

A sacred one.

An ode to a world that once was.

A world that was beautiful.

Harsh, and forbidding, and untold. Unsung.

A place that wants to kill you.

And you must adapt

Learn, change, grow

To survive.

You must be the fastest, the strongest, the fittest

So the bears don’t catch You, for their dinner.

They catch salmon.

And so do you.

And it’s delicious, that soft, pink, flavorful skin

And you’re glad it isn’t just the bears who get it.

And that they didn’t get you.

That is why this place is still (mostly) Pristine.

Something most of America, most likely most of the world

Has forgotten about.

We live in neat houses on hills, overlooking more houses and telephone wires, and bills

And we can’t even imagine what it’s like to overlook an endless forest, with an endless sky, reaching out to the endless ocean, sitting alongside endless mountainous peaks that all go on forever

And no other human or building or smoke signal in view.

Perhaps I am strange to desire such a thing.

But at times, it seems terribly desirable.

It is a magical place, a wondrous place.

With its forests of Fireweed

That bloom and change like the rainbow circles around the sun,

or at the base of enormous sea cliff snow melt waterfalls, sitting in fjords carved out by glaciers

And the sunset takes hours to cycle through its paces

blues to greens, reds, yellows, oranges, purples, pinks, and so forth

back to shades of blue and grey and darker blue

before they begin to grow lighter again.

Anything Is Possible.

It defies all reason.

It simply is.