The mountains powdered with termination dust hark the end of summer. Soon the clusters of evergreens will be coated in snow, just as they were last winter. The snow falls flake by flake. It's in no rush to hit the ground; it will melt once it does. The fireweed has bloomed - only towering stalks and wilted magenta flowers remain.
The same type of peace befalls my quiet life. Slowly, I return to old ways. Like footprints in the snow, the tread of future days looks much like those of the past.
From this island water and more tiny islands heavily treed with Douglas fir landing ground for ocean otters while orca whales glide by spout and spray the beach, broken shelled puddled wells of tide pools filling, spilling over again brown bauble seaweed mingles round algae rocks, barnacle shingled here where the air breathes salt scented water running wild with salmon.
Home Such a deceptively simple concept When you have it you can’t describe it and take it for granted When you don’t you are forever searching aware of the hole in your heart but not knowing how to fill it
Some say home is where the heart is Where your people are Wherever you lay your head at night
But what if home is also a place? On this earth Tangible and corporeal Rooted in the land or water That each of us must seek And may never find
It could be where we were born Where we end up Or someplace we have never been
What happens if you never find that home? What happens if you did And then you leave
Alaska is that home for me Not a specific place or town But the combination of mountains, braided rivers, wildlife that requires respectful distance, weather that demands preparation, tundra, bogs, and spruce
I doubt I will ever live there again But it will always live in me
I miss the way that you used to fight a smile, with your eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted--
And I miss the way the tundra crunched when I walked on it in spring, still frozen--
But that doesn't mean that I would still love you the same.
When I say that I miss you, I mean I miss being able to listen to certain songs without getting sad being able to drive down every road without being flooded with memories of a time we loved one another.
When I say I miss home I mean I miss the feeling of comfort the emptiness brought. Being able to look through childhood pictures without crying.
And my biggest fear of all is seeing you again and realizing you're not the same, and neither am I. And the love isn't there.
Or going home and knowing, it isn't how I left it and I've changed too. It doesn't bring me happiness like it used to.
When comparing things that you miss, you start to realize: even if you meet again, the person won't be the same one that loved you. Just like even when you go home again, it won't be the same place you once craved.