Yes, yes it's that time of year again. The time when for no apparent reason my heart flutters. I get that little... butterfly that won't leave my stomache. Flowers are beginning to bloom. The children play games- I often accompanying them (for how could a girl with a childish heart pass up a day of frog catching and puddle jumping?). And the first rain of the summer brought forth an awe-inspiring array of green. In a matter of minutes every tree opened it's leaves, every blade of grass poked it's head up from the mud below. And I felt it.... you know, that first real whisp of warm summer wind that flows through your hair and tickles your heart with the idea of what's to come.
Walking With Riley
Riley is so beautiful. She's connected to me now, the way a sleddog should. I don't keep her on a leash, yet she follows me no matter where I wander. I drift up through the thick groves of willow and she stays right near me. We take a seat on the tundra and she lays her front paws and floppy ears on my lap. She's so fast... so so fast. If I could have her as my own I would take her and run her every day. She'd be such a great sleddog. She's lean and graceful. She runs and jumps of puddles that are much too big for even my long awkward legs to get across. She's everything to me. That little inkling of happiness that makes it's way into my heart when I see her happy tail wagging at my appearance is a sort of glee that even the most riches couldn't compare. I couldn't imagine yet another walk in the woods without her playful footsteps beside me.
Connecting Nature Dots
There's a small clearwater getaway not a far boat ride from my village. We rode there today. There's something so utterly magical about the twists and turns of a long forgotten waterway. Ducks peer out from the brush. Moose gaze onward as you stride by. And the reflections of the trees on the water is inspiring. You'll never find anything more beautiful than the echo of a timber in a stream. The little alder branches reach out as if they want a hug from the wind. And the water below sings the same song back to them through their reflection. There's something about the way that everything connects here. The air connects to the trees in a soft sway. The trees connect to the water. The water connects to the land- marking it in little traces until it reaches the Bering Sea.
This Summer Land
I shall take a wildflower and pluck it and place it my knotted blond hair. I'll take my shoes and leave them in the mud, because my barefeet are craving the curve of the tundra. Then with a sleddog by my side and a cloud chasing my fingertips, I'll run to the willows and follow them to the riverside for a Yukon nap. I'm an Alaskan child, dear, and this summer land is calling my name.
Gathering Driftwood
My hunny and I ventured out to get wood. Now that the river has unthawed we can leave land and swim with a boat into the fast waters. Most years the wood will drift down stream. This year, unfortunately, it did not. So we had to scavenger the banks pushing logs into the water and tieing them onto the back of our boat as a raft. These logs will be our winters warmth. A necessity that so unforgivingly finds it's way into our front yard each year. This is the first year my darling took me. I like to jump along the logs, chase them into the water as fast as I can. I balance my tip-toed boots and make my way out on them until I feel a lack of confidence that brings me back to the safety of land. I like wood. I like trees, and I like the idea of taking one that passed away and using it to keep me alive during the chilling cold of our nine months of snow.
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