Back in Alaska for the third time this winter, and coupled with the two years we lived here previously, I’m think I may be starting to understand the attraction of the mountains for me. Maybe I’m just a slow learner, but every time I walked, hiked or simply gazed at the giants around me, I was filled with an energy that has defied definition – until now.
A few days ago I was riding along the curvy highway between Anchorage and Eagle River, pondering the continuous ridge lines, and it became apparent that the undulations of peaks and valleys represented a rhythm of sorts, and that rhythm spoke to me, a sort of mountain rap, wordless poetry. The peaks and valleys, crags and crevices, boulders and trees, now covered in white, accenting the sharp contrasts of Alaskan life marked the music that filled me with wondrous awe.
I find the extreme definition of landforms strangely comforting, a challenge always, but still warm and accepting. Ironic, I guess. It’s as if the inclusiveness of the varied landscape also allows for the inclusiveness of varied persons, and that includes me. Here I can be whoever I want to be; I don’t feel defined by the standards of those around me. And in this moment, I like that. I think for now that’s enough.