The boats are heavy. My hands are soft. The portage “saves us” from a series of rapids and falls but is so taxing I joke that, next time, I’m just going for it.
It’s easy to believe that loss is what makes us who we are. But when I consider the kindness and generosity people have shared with me, my body feels different. What if I could trace light as the through thread?
What’s sticking with me post-hike is what’s left: the tracks, the station and a few poles presumably for electricity. It has me thinking about how we’re connected to one another and to wilderness and how being connected to one another is its own magnificent — and treacherous — wilderness.
Do you believe in synchronicity? We’ve been writing about gatekeepers, and this card appeared in my mail along with a deck of tarot-type cards I’d ordered: “The gatekeepers are gone. You are the one who will open the door to your dreams.”
This poem (draft) is quite a bit more gentle — and certainly more sentimental — than is normal for me. Today, apparently, the muse has a fondness for camping.
Dear Ren, Some people talk to themselves (in their heads, out loud or in journals). Some people pray. Maybe this (blogging) is what we do.