Autumn in Alaska

I woke up this morning with images of Alaska in the Autumn flickering in my brain.  Canary yellow foliage reflected in a milky green lake.  Thatches of amber-hued leaves glowing atop tall, slender trees.  Fields set ablaze with stalks of crimson fireweed.

I loved the way Alaska looked in Autumn, painted in vibrant colors that could have only come from God's palette.  Some crisp mornings, before the sun had chased away the chill, I would grab my camera, hop in the car, and drive around snapping shots of the masterpiece unfolding before me. 

I always felt a strange melange of emotions: awe and elation to be witnessing such beauty and sadness in realizing it would soon end.  I would look at the world around me and feel an impending sense of gloom, as the termination dust crept further down the mountains signaling winter's approach.

I don't know why I woke up this morning thinking about Alaska in the Autumn.  I did not enjoy my time in that barren wasteland (devoid of sunshine and shopping malls).  For me, Alaska came to be a place of cold, dark, loneliness.  It is a place I associate with hardship and misery.

And yet...images of Alaska in the Autumn continue to play in my mind like a favorite movie, flickering on a screen somewhere deep in my brain.  Memories are like that, though, aren't they?  They flicker to life without warning, forcing you to play and replay a scene you have viewed many times before. 

As I look at these photographs, I must confess that I view my time in Alaska as a mixed blessing.  I am thankful to have beheld such beauty, to have witnessed God's awesomeness up-close.  Yet, I am as thankful to have left it behind. 

I think Alaska, and the images of my time there, will haunt me forever.  And maybe that isn't an entirely bad thing...
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Termination dust on the mountains.

Sunflower growing in Alaska.

Wild mushroom.

Would you like to read more about my complicated love/hate relationship with Alaska?  Read my article There's No Place Like Paris. 

All of the photographs accompanying this article were shot by me, Leah Marie Brown.  If you would like to copy or use them, please ask me first.  I am a generous soul.  I promise.  Thank you!  leahmariebrown@yahoo.com