One Long River
Dear Friends and Family,
I could say that the Dalton and Deadhorse are memory now. But by the physical breath alone each place and its lives we encounter become a reciprocal intimacy that lives on. On a biological level, it is as simple as exchanging genes—we imbibe the world through breath and give a taste of our innermost back to a world doing the same. On a phenomenological level, it is the stuff of experience and essence, of words and wordlessness.
This recent experience lingers with hush.
Inspired.
I have returned to
many times this week, reading and re-reading, “The cookbook I sort of once wrote.” Never has a piece on food so titillated my tastebuds while tempting tears of yearning.Forthcoming.
Where go I? Tomorrow, I will move across the roadway called, “Top of the World,” back into Yukon. If I make it in time to Dawson City, a still-thriving gold rush town on the Yukon River, I may chance another encounter with Carsten coming back on his motorcycle from Tuktoyaktuk via the Demps…