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A memory of my trip to the Yukon. |
[Introduction]
Breathe in – savour the taste of a land Free of the sky-scraper’s shadow. The air is like chocolate mousse After years of sticky syrup. Follow the Grey Jay’s path – Flying over Haines Junction; All the trees looking like fields of lavender To stand in the company of royal beauty And sit on the throne of the king. Wind lifts you up To the top of the world. A camper crouches low as a black bear trots off, Shining in the late night showing of the stars. The adventurous lie in rest – lost in the comfort of sleeping bags Chasing dreams that slipped through the catcher. Loud smiles and soft laughter all around the pub Brewing up happy thoughts of the ocean Just outside the door. Or the smoking scent of caribou Wafting through the kitchen. Meanwhile, miles and miles north, The streets are paved with forgotten gold, And the memories lie locked in the tombstone. A river rushes violently ‘neath crystal skies Each constellation looking like it was painted on a canvas The kayak parts the reflection of stars as it travels onward Samuel Beckett once wrote, habit and routine are the cancer of time. So toast to the unpredictable and original; Those brave enough to follow their hearts, And face the world. They paddle down the river – As normal as a runner on the road – No possibility of immunity to the magnificence. The trees, the rocks, the mountains, the rapids; They protect it all. This place is the world’s best kept secret. |
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