Farewell

Alaska is showing me her loveliest face as I prepare to leave. Tuesday brought an evening of mirrored water, Stephen's passage shimmering with gold rose hues, Mama Eagle crying to the departing sun from the very top of her enormous tree, then still, immobile.

I burned most of the left-over cardboard on the beach; above the crackle and flame the gulls' mewing floated across two miles of glassy surface from Portland Island. Ashes, ashes . . . . The mountains glisten with fresh falls of snow; there were even a few flakes Tuesday morning at sea level. While the cardboard flared I sat on a log. It was, I was; the moment for departure is almost here; time in this lovely, difficult place is receding.

Last night under a cloudless sky burned the last of what there was. Mama was still vigilant on her high spruce top as if she had been there all night and through the day as well; the gulls still murmured; the mountains shifted under the evening light from white frosting to purple haze.

Goodbye, goodbye . . . . I bow to you with a grateful heart.