Thirty thousand feet below, the north west oceans shimmer dark blue, in land, mile upon mile of patchwork fields glow resplendent in their healthy plume of greens and yellows. Back home my kids can still run and play in the dew tipped grass, drink fresh spring water from the tap, swim in Calldale Lake. For them – for most – life continues as normal.
As we slowly bank over the Bearing Sea, and head east into Anchorage, normal life begins to recede from view. The closer we inch to land, the more of the cracked, crumbling sea bed is laid bare. Buildings smolder, the unfiltered UV Rays are blinding. The signs had been there, but when the hole above Alaska ripped it was horrifyingly sudden. Most had been evacuated, yet the burnt out planes and charred corpses littering Runway 1 of Anchorage International made it clear not all got away.
After touching down we carefully check each others protective suits before stepping out for another days research under the blazing, unforgiving Alaskan sun. Meanwhile around the world politicians will continue to argue as Industry denies and delays – for some this once achingly beautiful outpost of our planet a seemingly small price to pay for the accepted excesses of modern living.
These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.