Kesugi Ridge

From where I'm sitting it's rolling tundra for miles, spotted with lakes, burnt with colors of autumn, a red carpet of blueberry bushes and amber waves of willow. Glacial rocks - erratics - are scattered about, gray and green with lichen. I remember this smell, the smell of the tundra: dry, savory, and sweet all at once. No trees, except near the lakes. Shadows roll by from clouds above, the sun shines, and I can see braids of the Chulitna River to the south. The boreal forest lines the pass towards Cantwell and giants of the Alaska Range rise up to the west. Denali's peak sits tall above the clouds making sure I know she's there, and I'm glad I didn't miss her. I've never been here on this ridge, though I have driven past it dozens of times below on the road lined with black spruce so thick that it can't be seen from higher elevations, the road from Anchorage to Fairbanks. Nestled against this rock, I remember, it's the labrador tea that gives it such a pleasant aroma. Though the tundra seemed desolate at first, I feel comforted by this serenity, at home in the vastness of the heart of Alaska.