the Nixionary

Mostly, in between bouts of coffee and reading my brains out, I’ve been observing. In the space of time since I last wrote, I’ve been mulling, scatteredly, over:

-10 whales bubble feeding– which is when they send a huge bubble of smaller fish up to the surface where the whales all come together, like they are dancing, mouths open, to catch their breakfast

-A brown bear and its babes rolling in the high grass of Koogan Bay

-21 king salmon bleeding in the bottom of Luke’s coldwater boat (victory!)

-2000 pounds of halibut coming out of a long-liner’s ice hole to their final end at the processing plant, where they get sprayed down, guillotined (with mean severity), and filleted into what goes onto your unassuming plate

-Fish slime, flung everywhere

-Cracked, salty hands

-Drizzling rain that got in my boots and never came back out except to leave mold in the corners of the bedroom

-A sign in Mosquito Cove that said, “Mama bear and her cubs seen yesterday on this trail” which sent me for an ice cream cone instead of an excursion

-”Sucker-holes” of sunlight that make me happy and then sad again when they’re too-soon gone

-The lush woods of hikes here– where the tips of Sitka Spruce look flourescent, and the red deadfallen logs stretch in mossy layers along braided creeks (and if fairies exist, they definitely live in these forests)

-More shades of green than I’ve ever seen

-More PBR’s than I’ve ever drank

-A more front-burner-of-my-brain difficulty understanding my place here or anywhere, really

-And Luke saying, in unknowingly telepathic response, while we were walking through the bouncy muskeg on Gavin Trail yesterday:

“It’s easy to be so busy, even here, that you forget you’re a part of creation.”

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