Here along the Arm, it is not morning yet.
The mountains cup the waning tide in giant palms
as a lover might the waning beauty of a sweetheart.
Oncoming cars are sentinels to overwhelm
along this journey which is more, it seems
than just a trip to Homer for the weekend.
The light is louder now, nearly audible
mountains dance into a new dimension
gaining trees
the sea is asphalt grey
the road is dry and traffic
faint in my direction.
The tide is out
The bathtub bottom of the Inlet bared
There can be no other place on earth
where beauty stands so naked and unashamed
as she does here.
These mountains, humming different shades of dark
with snow staccatos
just at Girdwood erupt in song
drowning out all other sights.
The road is mine, and all the fear which stalked me
through the night
has vanished as the darkness has.
Coffee, maple donuts, and laughing as I fly along
(Oh I know places in this world where one would
never dream of doing such a thing!)
Here is a stretch where work is widening the road
The ground runs soft beneath the wheels
- more sincere
- a little dangerous.
we have time to greet the blown-out fireweed
the needled spruce
the sunburst birch who live upon this landscape.
Three geese rising to the left of us
water falling on the right
a curve I don’t recall
(We forget some things
while others simply
change).
The air is definitely
Alaskan.
— Carol R. Dee
Homer
Have something on your mind? Send to letters@adn.com or click here to submit via any web browser. Letters under 200 words have the best chance of being published. Writers should disclose any personal or professional connections with the subjects of their letters. Letters are edited for accuracy, clarity and length.