Spongey Tundra

At some point fall has arrived overnight.

This September feels more like a November to me.

Hose-ing down rain day and night,

4.5 consecutive days.

The rivers are now murky, flowing beyond their banks.

Fresh snow has dusted the mountaintops,

looking like powdered sugar.

It's as if just yesterday all the snow finally melted

and then one day later it began to snow,

with no break in between.

It's peculiar how little things feel strange again,

like turning on the lights in the morning

because it's actually dark outside.

To enjoy a sunset because

it's been four months since I've seen the sky look like so.

The plants and trees that just sprung new life

have started to change so quickly.

New colors of orange, yellow,

and plenty of reds now dot the landscape.

The hills and mountains have a subdued pink tone

due to the dying fireweed flowers.

The low lying browns of the vegetation upon the hills

reminds me of the velvet on a White-tailed Deer antlers.

Heaps of Sockeye Salmon have completed their journey of life

from the ocean and up to the Russian River.

Turning bright blood red, they have exhausted themselves

and decay with their own kind along the banks of the river.

A few are enjoyed by the hungry Grizzly Bear

who is fattening up herself and her young

for the upcoming winter.

The tourist shops hang signs in the window

stating 'end of season sale'.

The Seward and Sterling Highway

have become less hectic,

and continues to slow as the days of

September continue.

The bunkhouses have became cold, vacant, and lonely.

Other co-workers have moved on

to complete their fall and winter chapters of 2011.

Endless amounts of chatting, laughing, and drinking in

the boys dorm continue to occur.

Their basement kitchen,

with the constant hum of the giant steel commercial refrigerators

makes me feel as if I'm in a submarine.

　

Working with the crew day in and day out,

spending hours upon hours in the truck

completing our tasks at hand.

I get to know my co-workers quite well,

recognizing their mannerisms, their laugh, their expressions

and what they eat for lunch

as well as how they eat.

I also quickly learn what ticks them off.

Or by taking one glance at them on Monday morning

I can tell how their weekend treated them.

When you live together, work together,

while being stuck in the same situation,

same lifestyle,

it's a camaraderie, a friendship unlike any other.

Just as July and August

have quickly vanished,

so will September.

My first but not last Alaskan summer

has went as quickly as it came.