Starry water field

my feet were not the first to see
the stars floating through the night
I walked behind him in the ebb and flow
there was no up or down, no right way
my path rippled and pooled, leaving no trace
to follow or find again. it was gone

the water was up to my ankles. gone
was the light, the shore I could not see
thoughts begin. my dreams I trace
from childhood to this very night
there is no place to go, no sign to lead the way
uncertainties come in one continuous flow

stop, stop the battering on my soul. end the flow
of doubts, of tears, of fear. silence, gone
are the voice. still lost, I do not know the way
black reflected below me and above me all I see
is the darkest of skies. pure night
the stars are gone, nothing. not even a trace

his hands upon my cheeks. my tears, his trace
his palms, his hand through which comfort will flow
not so dark anymore this truest night
two moons rise as he looks upon me. tears gone
the salt has fallen and mingled with the sea
his touch, may it never be so far away

insecurities too close, the know they way
my eyes falter, my hands do not trace
what if there was light for him to see
would his words still continue to flow
would the look in his eyes be gone
though I fear the dark, is there worse than night

put my pain to rest, for the night
is fading and a path becomes clear. my way
though unknown, is before me but partly gone
I see where I've been, I know it's trace
my heart will beat and my blood will flow
and where I'll end up... we'll just have to see

in the midst of night, clouded was my way
he was there to trace, where my tears did flow
till again I could see with my confusion gone

Life lately...

This guy. :) This guy... He's coming up to Anchorage for two sleeps the weekend before my next conference. I wish he could stay longer (so does he) but unfortunately it's hard to be away from the goings on at the homestead for extended periods of time. At least without planning. This is a very impromptu trip. Needless to say I'm beyond thrilled to be able to show him a mini-bite of Alaska.

Yeah, okay I know I already put a picture of him up in this post. :) I couldn't resist this picture though. Happy, happy. My last visit to the homestead was incredible. So many potatoes! We hunted as well, but didn't have any luck. I guess he'll just have to come up here for Spring caribou.

I really wish this picture wasn't blurry. I was however sitting on the floor of my friend's bus as he was driving me to the airport to catch my flight home. Yes folks, I have a friend who has a bus. He's got some work to do on the interior as you can see. :) The theme for the bus is climbing. I can't wait to see it's progress as he does his thing.

I scheduled a dinner with my trapping partner as soon as I got home. We had moose steak and potatoes. He did the steaks and I did the potatoes. It was really good to catch up with him. Trapping season is just around the corner. I'm pretty sure it's gonna be hard to be in the office all winter when I'd rather be on the line!

Idle hands are the devil's playthings. Idle hands also give my brain too much time to ruminate and be lonely and longing for things. So I try to keep my hands as busy as possible. I started this hat as soon as I got home from my trip to Spokane and Missoula as my get back into my Unalakleet groove. It whipped up really fast and now that my mind is settled it can concentrate on more complex projects.

Childhood home

a lone grey building
stands, colossal,
worn with age.
wood, soft, rotting,
covered in rusted metal.
two balconies,
no rails, no support.
any minute
crashing down.

a door faces the ocean.
wood faded from crashing waves,
stained from sea mist,
salt lines trace pictures,
scent of seaweed all around.

a wooden path leads to a door.
sun bleached, wind battered.
hinges loose and in
desperate need of oil.
still, it opens.

splintered floor.
boxes of books, skulls,
glass buoys, rotting clothing.
an old Singer washer,
plugged into a generator
covered in dust and webs.
every corner full
with the little things
that life alone in the wilderness
require.
it echoes with emptiness.

nine rooms, two stories.
a slaughter pit,
a garage,
a two bedroom upstairs,
a one bedroom downstairs.
joined by one stair.
long and uncertain,
still somehow
managing to bear weight.

imperfect yet full,
the house still stands.
a physical tomb
of perfect memories,
that leave a child empty.

I couldn't find the title for this

Windows unblinking, forever staring into the street
Haunted eyes open to the masses
Each night tired eyes, lost eyes,
     hopeful eyes stare back
with neon sparkles shining, reflecting
Bricks faded, grout crumbled down
wrinkling the flesh that has faced down years
guarded by a tired soul, the door
opens a moist cavernous hole
slimy residue on every surface
overwhelming the scent of ageless dust
with the bitterness of brew
that keeps tongues moving and thirst sated.
Old face withering more and more
     each day I pass on by
Yet once, only once I glance over
and fall into the pool of beer that lies inside
I struggle rising to the surface
only to gasp and sink even deeper.

Life lately... in pictures

Finally, some successful grouse hunting. My man thinks it's sexy. :)

Canning the grouse above into soup or pot pie ready munchies. Just add seasoning and heat up!

A work colleague came into town and I showed him around. And then released him into the wild with my shotgun.

Some last minute berry picking before the winter comes and takes over.

No words.

My poor sad socks that have gone the way of the hole in the heel. Tragic.