“I’ve had so much on my mind lately. Leaky radiators, snow too wet to plow, ground too wet to build on, old vegetables needing to be cooked, bills coming in on the high side, clients of every stripe full of spring fever, rusted tools, dripping creosote, not enough beds, wood to haul, fires to kindle, groceries to buy, mice in the house, and dead ones discovered, as flower pots are overturned on the back porch. The broom, the mop, the loppers, the shovels; recyclables, moldy ski boots, chop saws, and lids to oversized cast iron dutch ovens, all clogging up my space. My friends are full of words, like the water racing in rivulets through my yard, words that saturate and stimulate, and impel me to investigate, just about every known corner of my universe. What is this thing called “now”? I can barely keep up with it, or mitigate my own awkwardness, as I try to navigate, and resonate, and listen, with only the power of one. One calls, to say he’s digging the grave of a 40 year old horse; one texts to inform me that she’s fallen, and is injured: one reaches out for liner notes, and links and passages. I love them all. On this side of the eclipse, time is anything, but standing still. I find myself rushing to buy the right kind of work clothes, camera case, notebooks, and coat hooks. In my dreams, couched between audio books, and YouTube videos, I’m riding black stallions bareback, coaxing playmates to fly, being ambushed by hit squads, running sound boards in convention centers, and roaming endless corridors of old hotels, always slightly lost and often, confused. How can we pretend to be only one person, a presentable one who must show up every day, and act somewhat the same? At sunrise, I’m exhausted, by nothing, and by everything. A trip to the dump seems like a vacation in Paris, to me, in this liminal state. And collecting all the garbage, the box board and cans, I’m as happy as I was yesterday, sorting paper clips & coins, between the segmented cup holder sections of my truck’s vinyl organizer. This could be madness, or it could just be relief, to not be filling out tax forms, or mediating between contractors, or juggling details like compost quality with property managers in towns on both sides of the mountain. How long has it been since I played my guitar? I’m not sure where I’ll drive to, once the trash has been unloaded, though I’m getting a bead on the general direction, even as I begin down the potholes of my road. There are so many gifts, among so many pressures. I think I’ll go east, and hop a gap, and see if the bulletin board at the Warren Store can accommodate my advertising. Get a coffee, and a some bakery item, to fuel a few more miles, that I don’t know where I’m going. The town seems empty, which is a plus for getting in and out quickly, but the store has changed and lost some of its character. I can no longer grab my own muffin, but must ask for it, at the counter. The one woman in front of me in line is having a problematic encounter with a card reader. I stand and think about grilled cheese. I have no patience for getting real food, because it takes too much effort. Back in the truck, I go south. The gate is up at Warren Falls, so I take a walk there, which is slippery, and rather remarkable for the amount of spring melt that is surging at the moment. Further south, I stop in a pull off, and walk north, along the guard rail, hoping to find a place to ford the river. But no, I can’t do it, and I’m stuck in a no man’s land, where folks throw MacDonald’s wrappers, and soda cans, just a stone’s throw from absolute wilderness. The sky opens up pretty good, & I’m getting enough wet to be cold. There’s snow mixing in now, but I’m happier here, than at home. The magnetism of the high ridges I’m walking between seem to hold me better, than I can hold myself. Okay, I think, this is just what it is. Tripping over downed saplings, I right myself next to a huge tree toppled by beavers. What a scene of carnage, this mess of water, and sticks, and silt and highway. But on this particular day, at this particular time, there’s nowhere, I’d rather be.”
