January

It is January and I do not know how exactly we came to be here. There was Colorado, most certainly. There was a reunion between my Alaskan man and I which, of course, involved a good deal of feasting. There (too suddenly) were friends and goodbyes and tears at the thrift store curb as I gave away most of my belongings and crammed the rest into my car. Then there was an airplane, a wonderful departure from my old life in which O and I saw Costa Rica, a small bit of Panama, and a long upward swath of Nicaragua.  And so quickly, there we were in Colorado again, putting gas in the groaning car and driving (forever) to Montana. There was family and love and cats and sneaky nibbles of crisp turkey skin. There were more goodbyes and one more plane. Ok, two more planes. One was little. 

And now I am here in Alaska. Here in Alaska there is snow and O’s family and quiet. There will be hibernating. Broken up by bouts of danger sledding and snow rolling and copious drinking.  On a hill above Homer.  And what I am trying to say, what I am trying to get out, is this question. To myself. To you.  Should I come back, to this place? Should I try to write and show you bits of my day? What is really important?  The writing? The photographs? Does anyone really care? Do I care?

It is January. I should probably sort this stuff out.