Tuesday, December 16, 2014


I want to walk roads ancient and carless. There is an crescent-shaped harbor where I will sit at a cafe and wait. When waiting becomes almost unbearable, I will walk off the doubt up steep stone streets. I will lead myself away and maybe away from myself. Leading myself away from myself? I can at least try. Drop the I. Cast the eye up. See the sky. It's a mirror, that's all.

And then in the fall I will roam around somewhere indulgent, somewhere lush and with leaves waiting to die. But I catch them right before they do, I catch them with their breath held and the whole world on pause. I will stop. I will let them keep their oxygen for at least a moment longer. I won't be greedy. Then I will press play and resume wherever it is I walk to next.

It might not be anywhere, at least not anywhere physical. It may be a spiritual transformation that looks more like dirty palms and cracked fingertips kissed by the wind. There will be lines I read around my eyes as I try to read the lines on a map I do not know how to fold. I will inevitably become frustrated and stuff the map in a pocket or perhaps behind a rock. I don't need it anyway. I've got the sky and a determined I and eyes of the wildness in my bones which begin to open and let the light back in. I will return. I am home.

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