Blind Strike

{August 4, 2007}   Rainy Morning

A ragged mist clings to the Chugach mountains, today, the third morning left for me to wake up and call this place mine. But I know, if you ask hard, Alaska has owned me and not the other way around. I don’t count on the weather being good, anymore. A friend gets married today, safe inside the Hilton hotel. I will put on a bridesmaid dress and walk slowly up the aisle. Rain will pelt the roof twenty stories up and run off the sides of a brown-painted facade. Two mornings left, and when Sara slides the ring over Andrew’s knuckle, she will be his, he will be hers, but they will both be staying here, to be owned by this place, where the smallest yield is a great gift.


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