There is a parallel version of this place that exists in my mind. It is composed almost entirely of footpaths. It is suffused with the bark-like smell of paperbacks. It is under a glass dish.
But I want to ensure that that image, that alternate Alaska, does not supplant the real one in my memory. In all cases it is important to me not to forget my inspiration. In that spirit, and in the spirit of reappraisal, I submit these four in the week before I go.
Isn’t it interesting that Alaska can be savored essays and snowy mountains and doublesocks and canned food and candlelight and frustration and wonder? I suppose none of these items are contradictory, but, you see, South Florida can be all of those things to you, too. It just takes more imagination. Alaska will never contradict your recollection of her. Alaska will never send you a scrawled postcard demanding that you revise your memory of the cold, the cat, or the loafing buzzards.
It is lovely, to me, that we can experience, process, and reflect on more than one angle on any given scene in our lives - that no moment is necessarily any one way.
Perhaps I have missed the mark completely. Gosh, them there peektures sure are pretty.
I don’t think there is anything in the world more perfectly pure than solitary experience. I feel so sorry for people who never know that . . . who cannot be alone with themselves. To have the privilege of solitude in isolation, as you have had, is to reach a pinnacle of clarity.