Fifth Journey Day 9: Becoming Memory
Date: May 17, 2025
Location: Dawson City, Canada
I spent the day walking around the small streets of Dawson City. There is a strange, almost theatrical stillness here. The buildings lean into the cold wind and each other, as if they are quietly talking about holding on. The wooden facades are painted with soft greys and muted ochres. They are cracked and curling like old paper. Signs from long-gone businesses are hanging crookedly or not at all. It feels like time has slowed down, but it hasn't stopped.
I let the texture of the place guide my sketching. My pencil moved by itself, drawing warped window frames, rusty nail heads, and the uneven rhythm of boardwalk planks bending under years of people walking on them. The shapes were never straight. I liked that. It felt human.
The streets were empty, like northern places can be. They weren't completely empty, but there weren't many people around either. A raven sat on a broken lamppost, its dark feathers blending with the pale sky and distant mountains. I stood for a long time at the intersection of two dirt roads, simply breathing in the cold. I could only hear my own footsteps and the soft sound of wood moving a little as the temperature went up a bit in the weak afternoon light.
I thought a lot about how these buildings seem to be both defiant and resigned. They stand against snow, wind, rain, and time, but they also accept that they will eventually crumble. That's what made me want to draw them. They're not just relics, but living things quietly preparing to become memory.
Tonight, I will sleep with the smell of aged wood and cold air still on my coat. There is something comforting about that.
