Wednesday, March 6, 2013
"Dosing off in the summer winds off the sea into the grasses mixed with sands that take flight from waves crashing on the shore. The rhythmic drumming of surf peacefully lulls him in and out of his dreams as he waits on the beach ridge. The 'snapping' sounds of advancing Caribou awakens his senses as close breathing of hundreds or perhaps thousands of approaching nomads come within range. He slides down the ridge to driftwood and waits for his moment to rise with his missiles tipped with chert points harder than the best steel. He listens to the footfall gaining on him as his eyes search low in the grasses for any sign that it is time to rise and hurl his fletched lances at their approach. Twelve hundred years prior to the name of Alaska, gives him a space nearly void of others save for his small family on 'Sealing Point.' This day is for him and his success found him sledging back with his burden, his reward...he can just see the mounds of his lodge with little figures dancing around it, the dogs begin their alarm and an arm goes up signaling him...he knows he is home"