I pull the cotton balls from the container and pull them apart a bit. Not all the way, but just enough to give them a new look. I then toss them on the floor. When I have enough I imagine being in an airplane and am looking down on them.
There are many different layers of these cotton balls between the Deadhorse airport and the Anchorage airport. Sometimes so thick you cannot see the earth, and other times very sparse. But they seem to be omni-present. There is hardly a completely clear 24 hour period in Prudhoe bay. It is at times completely covered by a layer of clouds. The sun is rare this close to the arctic ocean.
And there is water everywhere. Puddles turn into ponds, which keep growing until they reach the ocean. You can see them meandering their way towards something bigger. Slowly making giant S’s across the valley floor. Working from one side to the other. Sometimes the S’s meet in the middle making a shorter path to bigger things. And instantly making a small island of the cut-off section.
The many undulations of this river talk to me. They ask about some of my life choices. Why I didn’t just head straight in, but chose to meander from side to side a bit. Why have I so many layers surrounding me and only a few know whats beneath them. The answer is ahead, I guess. When I reach the ocean. The last place we visit on our journey. Perhaps it is not the last. Perhaps we turn into a vapor and rise again. Turning into another layer of cotton balls. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see. Meandering just a little bit more.