the gravel road did me no favours during the two hour drive to get there... winding roads, just wide enough to accomodate a vehicle in each direction, trimmed with turquoise lakes and towering trees... a pit stop meant the infiltration of mosquitos and the slight feeling that we weren't in whitehorse anymore...
we drove into the town and it was a blink and you'd miss it kinda of place... however, its delicately preserved heritage, vast lakefront, evergreen-speckled islands plunked in a vivid blue pool and commanding mountains gave it strength in its simplicity... broken, boarded up houses were a thing of beauty... a lone brown-haired horse stood in a small backyard barely blinking... children and adorable dogs were the accessories of choice for pedestrians...
an old theatre housed the first stop on our arts & music festival romp... a talented west coaster of the folk genre took to the stage and pleased our senses... when hunger set in, we took shelter in a rustic cafe with huge windows acting like portals to the beauty we'd ducked inside from... new voices fend me with culture, emotion and entertainment... a traditional dance brought tears to my eyes and the environment provided a calming sensation...
we awoke to the rain pitter-pattering upon the thin walls of our tent... a morning walk was greeted by very few souls, as it seemed as though the town had reverted back to its usual turtle-paced rate of activity... there's many northern places you might never explore -- or have even heard of... but if someone ever asks you if its worth the drive to atlin, british columbia, tell them i told you it is...
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the saying may go that "actions speak louder than words," but in my opinion words actually shout decibels above any move one could make... so expressive, interpretive and intense... all you need to find is a method to your madness to avoid rambling nonsense...
