My darling has taken me in search of a moose the past few days. It will be our food for the winter. August is autumn in Alaska. And fall is the time to hunt. Little does he know my wondering mind is never truly set on the death of an animal. I close my eyes when he aims his gun. My heart is too weak for such a thing. But I understand the need. For without the meat we would quite practically starve. This year our search has been empty-handed so far. But it's the searching part that I enjoy most. For when finding our winters supply, we get to take sunset walks through twisted willow and alder. The sunlight beams striking the ground haphazardly through the branches. And the path is covered in tracks of the many creatures that have taken the same steps just a few hours prior to ours. Lynx, fox, bear, and otter. Beavers homes rest near where we part our boat before heading through the trees to check the open praries. Mice and frogs scurry amongst our feet and in and out of the large ferns. The treks are short-lived and only lead a short ways to a clearing where we wait a few minutes before heading down stream to another path. But the walks through the sweet sunset shadowed leaves are the best part of all. For even if a moose is at some point harvested and supplies our need in the cold, the adventure of the hunt is the part that lies most deeply in my heart.
