Digital Society and what it means to me. Unfamiliar with the use or overuse of the internet, I feel that people are left to fend for themselves more so now then ever before.

Thursday's class poems

Fell off the back of a truck,
In the State of Alabama.
Sack in arm, he snatched her
off the ground.
“I waste half my life,
to track her down.”
Patsy flinched when the empty Coke bottle
glanced off the register.

It’s great to be able to go for my morning and afternoon walks again. My dogs were happy to be out and about. It was very funny to watch Wilbur the Basset Hound with his new booties.

Sidewalk corner walk
Cold desire
Stop for grimy truck
Quickly faceless girl
Hustles by.

Windy breeze sails grow
Sun and faith pulls my desire
Waves of snow clear the view
Swiftly courageous Wilbur
Pushes through.

Cold winter walks
Raven calls overhead
Dumping his backpack
as he rolls in the breeze
The spruce trees tire
from their loads of snow
Silence falls in its shower

A number that changes – often
But we Indians are use to being numbers

Mission Hill

Mission Hill

This area of Tanana was once a thriving little mission outreach center for the Episcopal Church. Sitting up on a bluff overlooking the convergence of the Tanana and Yukon Rivers, the Mission is now abandoned, but still used as a burial ground.

The church is on the National Historic register, but funds to save the building is hard to come by. The monies that are needed to save this building would run into the millions, due to its isolated location. Materials and equipment would have to be barged in during the short summer season of Alaska, making the cost of repair extremely high.

My mother went to the school that was held here back in the early 1940s. Gardens were planted around the church to help support itself and the children that were left there as orphans. For the village of Tanana, Mission Hill holds a dear place in our hearts as the final resting place for our dead.