Yeah yeah

[theatokos]

I just posted, I should be in bed. Should. Yeah, I said it. But I just read donkeyfly's latest post. It's her and automata that remember for me just how beautiful my home is. They write about it in such a way that I capture the smells, whether it's the mingled scent of rain and drunken men staggering from the bars or the smell of low tide mixed with rain. I feel the rhythms of a southeast alaskan summer. I remember the weight of trees, the gravity of water, the inertia of place whose inhabitants are constantly in flux. I remember the shape of the aurora over the mountains this time last year.

When I get exhausted my heart retreats to that place of absolute knowing. I ache for the certainty of comfort, of knowing not just where I fit, but how I fit and why.

I could go on about soil and water and sounds and history, but I'll spare you. It's late. Instead I am going to curl up in bed, finally, and dream of that boat ride I never got in June.

Comments

[donkeyfly.livejournal.com]

this place is so hard to love. i leave in four weeks and i feel like i miss it already. i've been flirting with the idea of not leaving, of just staying here, opting for the local university, working at some shop. i won't. i will leave for a year, but...it's so hard. i know i won't be happy with myself if i stay, but it still seems silly to leave.

[ewigweibliche.livejournal.com]

Sometimes I wonder if everything I've learned about loving comes from Juneau. It's not that Juneau isn't without serious flaws; it's a difficult place to love - but it inspires a love of enduring and overwhelming proportions. I hate letting go of it. Hate it. And yet, doesn't it push us out of the nest over and over again? I've known more people from Juneau who are well-traveled and worldly than from anywhere else.

Juneau isn't going anywhere, though. It's a reliable rock in the recesses of memory and safety. I am excited for you about Russia and all of your travels. Did you decide on the teaching in the bush thing?