Alaska

I wrote this October 22nd, 2007. I found it recently in some old stuff, and so I decided I'd post it. Enjoy!

I stopped on the side of the road, in the drizzle. There are bushes right up to the pavement, as though they were going to grow over it. The wild blueberries, endless layers of them, are ripe. As I pluck and pull them off their seemingly safe havens, they shed cool rain drops into my cupped hands. I slip a blueberry into my mouth, and savor the pure natural tartness. Jack Frost has not got the chance to sweep in and add the sugar to these. When I rise to look for more, I marvel at the view. This brush appears everlasting. I am situated on a hill, and in the lowlands below, placed quietly as the history it holds, a marsh. A bull moose with his magnificent array stands in the water, eating pond grass. Like a soldier about to meet his fate and join the rest of his kind, he prepares for battle, stuffing himself and gorging on a humble feast of greens. I can hear the rain, and the seldom splash of tires on the road way, a few feet off from where I stand on the edge of civilization. I can smell the berries, and the rain falling all around me. I eat more blueberries, and smile as I think of the moose down below and how he must be enjoying himself. On the horizon, mountains rise ferociously from the marsh. They guard this wonderful, soggy land from that which would destroy it in smothering love. The mountains almost say, “Respect us, and we shall respect you.” There is snow sprinkled on their ancient faces. I ponder the powerful forces that organized these towers of olden rock, and how trivial my existence is.