3,282 Miles Away

It's twice the size of Texas. If you really want to get right down to it, it's bigger than even the entire 22 smallest states in the Union. There, you will find places where 24 is the collective hours of continuous dark. And light. Its land is pocked with volcanoes; it also boasts hold of half the nation's glaciers. It is inhabited. But one mustn't forget it is untamed.  

It is, as you see, a study of contradictions. Yet, its simplicity confounds. Baffles. Hypnotizes. 

It is called The Last Frontier.  
We once hailed it "Home"...3,282 miles away.

Not much bothers Alaska. It runs on its own time. In its own way. Like the most stubborn child, it cannot be hemmed by staunch structure, and pressing it only fences it further in. Life ticks along differently there, defined more in terms of light and dark, less in dusky shades of gray. It is, in fact, far less complex than typicals think.

Of one factor's impact, though, you may be certain: Mother Nature- aka Elohim (the Creator God) - moves and shifts and molds that land quite unlike any other. Glaciers snail forward, mere inches over weeks-come-years; the air snaps crisp before it ripples to supple summer. It is hard. It is gaping. It is steady. It is perfection.

And here's how I know.

 

My friend, Marita, posted these. Locals snapped them.

In case you didn't know, there's a solar storm happening. Which, here in Colorado, doesn't mean much. But in the land of the midnight sun, the sky is ablaze with the paints of God. 

Now, I love Colorado. I know He has us here. 

But, as they say, I left my heart in Alaska. 

And that is where it stays.

3,282 miles away.