I could see my breath when I got home from a friend's house early this morning. It was 44 degrees. Fall in Alaska is manic, at least for me. It's as if that first chilly morning flips a switch and all of the sudden I realize the snow is coming. And that means I need to harvest the garden and pick berries and cut that firewood I have been putting off all summer long. Faster, faster, faster. Every morning is a little voice whispering, "It's coming. It's coming. Hurry."
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Periodic epiphanies and other less-than-profound musings from the North.
About Me
- MG
- I'm a mother and friend and daughter who sometimes moonlights as a writer, editor, designer, photographer and superflak. I'm a lousy bureaucrat and don't really know what it feels like to be middle-of-the-road about anything.
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