Hello dear readers.
I’ve been taking a pause as the weather here cools, the leaves begin their shifts in color, the last terns depart for their incredible journey south. Thrushes have begun their wild antics, showing up in small flocks, flying in skirmishes that barely avoid our windows. I’ve put up a silhouette of a raven to dispel any wild notions that glass is something to fly into. Several of them scattered in front of me and the dogs as we walked yesterday, zipping across the path and into the alders, hovering twenty feet in front of us only to fly off again, as if ushering us on our way.
Needless to say, I love this time of year. It’s when Alaska becomes Alaska again—a place far more familiar with cool air, declining light, the quieting slide into winter. Summer is confusing—rarely reaching above 70f and yet there’s still growth and activity and noise. Summer always feels ambivalent, as if the latitude can’t fully commit to heat, despite constant light.
And so, in the incline towards a more quiet season, I’ve been taking a pause to focus on some poetry, to absorb the new colors in the landscape again, the different birds flying through on invisible magnetic threads. The last dragonflies my dog insists on trying to capture, their presence slowing and lessening each day along with the daylight.
Sharing a recent poem that was published in The Catamaran Literary Reader. I look forward to sharing a new post this weekend and returning to a more regular schedule again soon.
The colors and textures in that picture are wonderful ! Great eye.
Alaska!!! So dreamy.
“Glinting in the scour of new sunlight”
Beautiful.