i'm free well for eleven days... i can't wait for the red rocks and the hours of hiking and walking through the tiny town i missed it last year after this, we didn't go back to school this year, we are
probably not gonna be active until next week sorry :)
Looking out over a Mountain View was my idea of escaping. But my feelings of inadequacy, my shortage of happiness, and my lack of love only grew. It wasn’t an escape. It was emotional poverty with a view.
One day I hope to put these feelings down in writing To find a way to simplify the way these carry me The smell of worn leather and pine trees in December A cold wind and a creek half frozen The line of trees that separate my house from the wilderness And how some days I wish I could disappear in there with you
We would hunt and forage forge a path of our own Play an out of tune guitar around a smoldering fire We would live in the trees and hide in the grass You would braid my hair and we would dance barefoot in a clearing To the sound of cicadas and leaves underfoot
I love, I miss, I want you. I hope for you. More than I will ever be able to tell you.
The smell of my leather hunting jacket made me emotional for a future I will never have. Those beat up leather riding boots in my closet make me want to walk until I disappear.
The very air is different in those places so untouched, smooth and unburdened. You can fill yourself, let it in with a breath and it will seek every crack and crevice, it swirls in the lungs and mends.
You could just about leap - cast yourself from the very pinnacle of earth, Forget the stone which proffers you an open palm to the waiting sky, Let the renewing air cradle you, lift you up and twist you around, show you the world as it sees the wrinkles in a quilted landscape.
Scramble your fingers along the jagged earth to find purchase.
Oh, the drop, the fall, the catch of breath, how it sings, how it calls!
Written for barren peaks and untraversed ridgelines.
We were scaling Mount Si when a cloud rolled in so thick we had to wipe the mist from our faces. Our shadows, already growing longer, disappeared entirely and the time we measured by the burning in our legs and the shortness of our breath seemed to go with them. Light no longer came just from above, it was all around us, equally, and it was then that I thought part of us would never return and that moment would never end, when you gasped and whispered, LOOK, your arm outstretched, and there floating out of the fog was a ghost, and then a shadow, and finally stepping onto the rocks as new as creation itself, a beautiful, white ram.