A Northern Weekend
- A Northern Weekend
- Sep 18, 2016
- 3 min read
---A break from the politics, the business, from the problems. Please take a walk with me along the Pelly River in the territory of The Yukon. If you cannot join me in person, please join me in prose, and of course in spirit. Here is to the solutions, seek them with understanding and gentleness and they will always rise. Join me as I wander through the Yukon this magnificent fall weekend.---
As the mud splatters across my leather and denim, my steps firm on the dirt tracks I follow, I find myself close to me.
Sunday echoing over the river valley.
My silent pleading for the poplar leaves to just hold on a little longer; the reds, the yellows, the fire of all, painted so eloquently throughout the landscape.
The weekend full of Northern Experiences. The lakes I have walked the edges of, the harvest moon rising and setting larger than can be describe, shining its light over the trees that appear to be on fire; but are only ageing rapidly before my eyes, welcoming the descent of their leaves to the cool muddy ground. Northern Experiences, bonfires, singed hair, and burnt hot dogs, the river I lazily stroll along on this Autumn Sunday afternoon. I am sure there have been fuller weekends, or weekends of equal beauty and grace, but as I glance across the vista I find it hard to remember or believe.
Reaching for a deeper longing of a truth I once knew so well, I wander. A truth that is not replaceable and leaves an aching in my soul that is not describable. As I wander along the river I think of my old dog Luke, and how he would have loved it. In this thought of all that I have lost and all that I have gained, he is all I miss in this moment, as I realise what a true gift he was. Then the moment passes.
As the fisherman or where they hunters, silently explode by in their boat, the aluminum hull barely touching the surface of the river, fish tailing a hello, I rise my arm in greeting. The passenger joins me for a moment in my silent salute to all that is majestic. My thoughts wander to the highways of The North, the rivers, and wonder how many people are out here today, closing camp, looking at the depths of the muddy waters and wanting to know how deep, how far to go.
I glance to the forest, to the moss covered ground, the berries, and thistles starting to shrivel and wilt, preparing for the snow that is soon to come. This land of extremes, the midnight sun, the permafrost, the northern lights, and of course the darkness, and my soul breathes a sigh of relief. Finally, I have found my partner that understands the extremes of our world, of our spirit. The North she gets me, she knows me, before I even speak, before I utter or whisper a sound…she knows.
---After writing this I realize I have written this for and too my parents. Their love of the outdoors, and their love of me, has given me the gift of awareness I shall never be able to express enough gratitude for. May the change of the season be as much a blessing for all of you as it has been for me. ---
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