The phone rings. I do not answer. It is an alert without nuance.

“I called three times and no one picked up,” someone admonishes.

“And three times I was not in the mood to talk,” I think, but do not say.

Another ignored caller tells me over tea, “You should get Caller ID.”

I should go to Alaska.

It is said that before the white man came and trading towns sprang up and offered cheap food in cans or boxes, a Native could travel across the icy landscape in search of food and not get lost. Disorienting to the untrained eye, the landscape would swallow a novice in no time, but to the eye that understood nuance of shape and shadow, the endless white posed no extra danger. A Native could find his way.

My inbox is Alaska. My Facebook alerts: Alaska, Alaska, Alaska...

***continue reading at The Curator***

http://www.curatormagazine.com/llbark...