When I find myself struggling with the right words, when the stories elude me, I fall back into writing about our time in Alaska. This used to frustrate me, but now I can appreciate our time there for what it was.
There was a camping trip where it rained for the entire weekend, but the rain was perfect, and soothing. Seward is as lush as an Amazon rainforest; it rains almost every day, so everything is green and blue and full.
In our bright orange tent, which we bought from a Saturday garage sale in May for twenty dollars, we slept with our heads a few yards from the shore of Resurrection Bay. The rain was gentle, there aren’t many thunderstorms in Alaska, and the sound and the cool temperature outside of the tent lulled us into a deep sleep that we didn’t wake from until 10:00 a.m. The cheap tent had kept us dry and warm. I felt tucked in and safe, so close to the water, our backs facing the forest. In the middle of the night a moose ambled into our campsite, stomping blindly toward the bathhouse. When I got up to use the restroom at 3:00, the light was cool, blue, and blurry with fog. Dawn already.