Today I had the rare and pleasurable experience of driving down the Seward highway for no other reason than to see the mountains and listen to music as loud as I desired. I usually travel with kids in the car, so it's a nice break when I can turn up the volume and don't have to have the same conversations over and over again:

"No, we are not going to Fred Meyers. We are going to Costco. Costco! yeah for Costco!"
"Stop kicking my seat. I've asked you three times already to stop kicking my seat. It's hard for me to drive when you kick my seat."
"It's OK Lucas, we are almost home. You're going to make it baby, just hold on a bit more."

I ended up at Beluga Point, one of my favorite writing destinations. I love to sit and watch the tourists face the wind and snap pictures and try to find sheep and whales. Kate Bush was my musical companion as I reviewed last years poems and journal entries. I ended up revising a few lines and working on a short story that I started almost two years ago. Just like me, it's all a work in progress it seems.

The biggest gift of the day was the drive home. Every mountain range in sight was out in full glory. The Talkeetna's could be seen, still snow covered, in the northeast, the Alaska Range held up the southwest skyline with their tall and impenetrable peaks forged up from the sea. Redoubt stood alone with his lopped off top, while Denali and Foraker rose above them all to the north. The Chugach, our local range, stood on my right, looking a little weather beaten, like a well worn shirt, and across Cook Inlet, Susitna, wearing her snow white death shroud, lay serenely against the blue, blue sky.

Just another blessed trip. Alaska is synonymous with home for me; even on the worst day, there is nowhere else I'd rather be.

***Thanks Honey for the time off!****