Good fortune was ours on Monday as we drove through Denali Park.
The day was cloudless and blue; crisp in it’s spiced pumpkin/dirt earth/cranberry/light blue/gold colors. Grizzlies, moose, eagles, sheep and a lone wolf crossed our path. The 14-hour drive went by with that suspended feeling of what I remember of being a kid. You know when you are all Saturday morning wide-open, expecting miracle and revelation from a day of play. And then there is that worn out pleasured tired that comes at the end, delivers you fast to dream as you finally fall, tucked in with deep breaths.
Mountains are my favorite. It’s been this way since I was a flat land teenager living in suburban Houston. I used to relax my eyes on city horizons until it all kind of blurred together into mountains. So it’s no surprise that my answer without hesitation when asked where I choose to be has always been mountains.
Mountains ground me and remind me how we are all so small.
Denali is one of the grandest mountains I have ever laid eyes on.
It will strike you speechless.
The road through out the park had soft shoulders and narrow curves,
cars dwarfed by the big-scapes,
and bold colors.
There were delicate nests made by winged things,
Poetically the day ended with two swans + two beavers
sharing the same pond
and a short detour into the town of Nenana . . .
14th hour on our road trip
which I will continue in a post tomorrow.
See you then!