Out of the airplane window, snow ripples bound for the horizon and enough time passes for an epiphany, no signs of human life for unusually long. It’s March so home is seeping away from winter but I’m headed back toward it now, mostly into sparsity and space, woods that aren’t just parcels and rivers that pick up speed to that geologic inertia less compromised by our interventions.
You’ve seen that map with Alaska superimposed on the lower 48 United States with Ketchikan covering Savannah, Georgia and Shemya in the Aleutians on top of Sacramento, California. In the absence of strong cultural pinpoint markers, that geographic immensity is hard to contain in the imagination and it therefore remains an abstraction, blurred assurance that on the ground it keeps going and so might you but little more than that. What is sharper is the lore and the mythology and boast, all those frontier…
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Cycleofaddiction 