Alaska. Fishing. Rubber boots. Rain. Whales. Jumping salmon. Bear cubs.
The greenest green your eyes have ever seen.
The bluest blue in the purest hues. fishing lines. fishing nets. fishing poles. fishing boats.
Everything is unscathed by a city. Wildlife is wild here. A bald eagles snatches a salmon from a raven with it's claws.
The animals are all clever, cunning and patient.
Wrinkles and sunspots decorate handsome fisherman faces. They smell of beer when I walk next to them in town. Their eyes are harsh, but in a curious sort of way. Bodies worn, chiseled arms. Facial hair. A delirium that takes its toll is etched underneath their eyes.
The natives give your a look of inquiry and hostility. The oxygen smells sweet and the ocean air salty, both of these change your skin and hair.
I no longer worry about eyeliner.
I no longer care who is going out or who will text me.
Because no one does.
Because I'm in the wild and I don't know if I'll ever be the old me again.
The boat rocks me to sleep and I smile.