“I did pretty much let go, thinking that “anyone in particular” was going to agree with me. Ot that the heft of hours was going to do my heavy lifting for me, over the course of a day, without offering a contrary opinion. I really can’t believe how this is all playing out, and so, I submit to the ground under my knees. Digging up daffodils just about to bloom is like horse whispering, a feat left to the few who know how to do it. Willing to remain obscure, we engage in our unrehearsed ritual of transplantation. It makes sense almost, to be buried in snow the day after. Here, at elevation, a serious spring tease includes in equal part, destructive elements & ignorant bliss. I don’t mind playing along as long as i know what’s happening. I can retool my plan, shovel a bit more of it, lower myself by handrail the length of a poorly angled stair, to the wood pile. At night, with a head lamp; by day, with a renewed enthusiasm to achieve. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Some will concoct a story of liberation, prideful of their choices; while others will retract, plagued by conflicted thoughts, & disturbed by a more complex landscape of mine fields and deception. There isn’t one way (though wouldn’t that be nice). If we didn’t differ, we would know we are dead. But I miss the chances, I almost had. To play, to dream, to reframe my life. Coming so close to intimacy and rebirth, or so I thought, only to be trapped by the awkward constraints of my own ethical boundaries, and it spoiled everything, I can assure you. The farce, where I acquiesced, or was pawn in a game, yes, we’re doing it even now. Stupid, idiotic, angelic. Climbing, scrambling, hoping to follow in the footsteps of some more competent human. I mourn my heroes. The hemlock branches that shifted, feathery, strong, endangered, timeless, their hidden cathedrals allowing bipeds entry according to what they’ve lost. I still love the same people I’ve always loved, and always will. The cocky, the profane, the exalted, the sainted and then the ones who’ve refused to leave, remaining after all I’ve done to disarm their passions. Look, I’m also just a person, encompassing both the good and the damned. If I’d taken copious reams of advice, or twisted myself to criticism, I’d have no real ground to be bitching. I’d be in another dream, something dull and reduced, not enticed by place names like “Ninevah” or “North Branch”. Not clunking along poorly maintained highways, thru gulches and gaps, anticipating “Bump” signs, with a mixture of skepticism and respect. Trying to remember a tryst or two, maybe out Plum Creek or up Tucker Hill. It’s all too much to expect I’d be able to pinpoint when I was actually loved. However by the tenderness I’m still feeling, there may have been one who didn’t calculate, keep score, or hold back.”
