May 12, 1998

I'm in Alaska with my father, Aunt Mary, and my Nana. We are sightseeing and trek to the top of a scenic lookout. Behind us there is a fresh stream and in front of us the whole of the wild Alaskan beauty stretches out. It is a warm day and we go to the stream. I am walking through the stream and in the water I can see all this bright coral. I pick some of it up and stare at the complex patterns and vibrant colors and am tempted to take it home with me-I think how it is just a little piece and no one would miss it, but then I put it back. I know that it is not mine to take, it belongs to the majesty of the Universe. Some local guys are there also and they start chatting with us, telling us about this place as they know it and hanging out with us as we wander. Eventually we wander to a larger open field that is just beginning to bloom. The music of bagpipes floats about and as we cross the stream we see a troop of Scotsmen dancing in the traditional manner, all decked out in their kilts, moving into two circles, one inside the other. As I stand in the warm breeze with the soft grass brushing my legs I can see the energy that these men are generating with their music and movement-an earthly recreation of the Northern Lights billowed forth from their circles and filled the air. The two locals want to shows us something else, so we follow them to a cove along the water. The land looks out upon the expansive sea while the shallow waters of the cove are clear and crisply blue. We are waiting for the sun to set when I notice that the shallows are filling up with a school of fierce looking fish. I go to the water and look closer, and see that they are not fierce at all but are all very old. I get in and playfully swim with the fish, but I can feel their loneliness; they are the last of their kind. the sun is setting and I do not want to leave the penetrating beauty of this place that I'm in.