Alcan in Winter

In fragments…

I had the best border crossing ever. The guard was big warm dyke with red hair and healthily flushed cheeks. I flirted like crazy. She had the biggest, softest lips. She did check my registration to make sure it was in the same name, and luckily it was.

I’m driving so slowly up the shoulder, eyex fixed on a white lump. No matter how hard I focus I can’t stop it’s shapeshifting. It is the back of a giant snowy owl, then a wisened old grandma wearinng a cape of white feathers and snow, and then, again, just a chunk of ice, my imagination run wild.

When I stop she turns her head, and she is shaman and she is owl and she is cat. She turns and floats over the snow, pure grace on huge paws. Lynx.

Just the other day in the gas station the men were laughing over the price they get for her skin.

It happens again in the mountains, the sticky gas petal, the helpful light reminding me to Service Engine Soon, and the trouble accelerating up hills. Maybe I’ll never make it anywhere.

My phone works here! I’m booked in a favorite and profitable area and I get to work with Hat-Ma for a couple weeks. I live in so many worlds, and whenever I swap them it’s like coming home. Alaska? Ah, home. Midwest strip clubs? Ah, home. It gets to be rather confusing…