It's been a long time since I've lived in the arctic north. Although it's been 9 years, it feels like centuries. A distant memory. A faded dream.
When I first moved to Anchorage, it was late September when I arrived and already the termination dust was half way down the Chugach Mountains, announcing winter was a short distance away. The sun came up lower on the southern horizon already giving the illusion that I was on top of the world. It snowed within the week, although the real snows didn't come for almost a month.
The northern lights would become a familiar friend, almost a constant companion in the winter months. They would dance, swirl, appear to send shards of crystal glass down upon me, and fade. Sometimes I wouldn't see them for weeks. Sometimes for months. Sometimes I'd travel to Healy to spend some time looking for them. But I always knew they'd return, somewhere.
In 2001, the snows came early and by October 11th, the city would remain covered until May. That same winter, on St Patrick's day 2002, I would witness something I haven't seen since. It was late evening when I first witnessed the moose tramping and stamping across the street. She was agitated about something. When I stepped out onto my deck, I could hear her unnerving noises. She quickly disappeared into the darkness between the houses that was shadowed from the streetlamp. Within 20 minutes, the snow would start falling again, only this time it wouldn't let up. By morning, I awoke to a alien world. 24" of fresh snow fell overnight. Nothing outside was recognizable. Most of it was simply gone. It would take a week before many could venture out of their homes again.
My last summer there was steeped with tradition. Being alone at that time, I found myself looking for solstice from the tragic life I had come to know. I would wake up on any given Saturday morning, buy a white mocha from the local coffee stand, and drive out Northern Lights boulevard past the airport to the point. I would park, walk down to the sand along the inlet, venture north about the bend until I could see downtown Anchorage and the Chugach's beyond in the distance. The moments there were steeped with a spiritual sense that touched the heart and healed the soul.
I left Anchorage in 2004--a decision I had no control over. My work and my life was leading me elsewhere. I would find myself struggling, fighting, and wandering. I would see new places and meet new friends. I would end a career, and go back to school for another--that dream part of me that once discovered couldn't be let go. And every so often, I would sit down on any given day with my white mocha, pull up my laptop, wander through Google Earth, and see the city that once cradled me. I would write, dream and wonder. And everyday that I'm far away from the city I call home, I always feel like I'm missing something.
One day I will return. I look for Anchorage all the time in the deep imaginings of my mind, dreaming and wandering. When the day comes for my return, it will no longer be that distant memory. That faded dream.
