another sunday morning

Its almost July. The time of butterflies and wildflowers and memories of hiking in the lightning, getting hammered by graupel. The days growing hotter and windows forever open while the wind chimes, doves, and robins sing sweetly each morning. So goes the seasons of me. I haven’t written in awhile because I didn’t want anyone knowing where I was going, what I’m doing. Its still winter in my heart but working as a therapist I experience winter-hearts each day and it doesn’t scare me anymore. I remember watching a movie about an asteroid that was to hit earth and the most calm and stoic character was the female with depression. Her world had already ended. Each day waking up a ghost in a life she didn’t really want.

I want life. I want love. But I’ve gone north and hidden myself at the foot of a mountain range not necessarily known for its tall peaks but for its isolation. Hikes here aren’t harrowing in the climbing part but harrowing because there is no one else around. I can drive 10 minutes and be on a trail where my companions are sage and sorrow. But I’m not scared anymore. I’m not sure if I’m living in the past or the future but feel very foggy in the now. Before I left Colorado I started just letting myself be and take risks. With my heart, my body. I scooped up a few new lovers and one very ancient lover who just like an afternoon thunderstorm has came and went. I celebrate that I left as soon as he got nasty. Life might be fuzzy but I can still see.

I think about what I’m doing and where I want to go. My main objective is to transfer my hours from Colorado and try to expedite my counseling licensure in Wyoming. I have found a home in therapy but some days I dream of once again working on the river—hauling around drop bags and stoves, creaking open the Yeti cooler for an ice-cold beer. I start to notice and appreciate ice and wash my hands thinking of what a privilege this running water really is. I’m paying too much in rent and start to hatch plans of leaving the country. Giant thunderclouds form in my brain as I think about saving enough money to travel and looking up all the friends I made on Warmshowers and Couchsurfing. Take me in, send me on my way. Sitting with the heavy feeling of being lost and accepting that there is no destination.

I miss Colorado. I miss my friends. I miss whoever that wild and brave woman was who took a risk and tried her damndest to become an adventurer. I lack some skills—courage, bravery, grit. I lack some resources—adventure buddies, money, a trusty truck. Yet I can always reflect on times when I had all those things and how I was always trying. Maybe this lackluster writing is a new try. I want to go get lost in the rolling plains and jagged mountains. I want to play like the calves I see in the meadows on the trail. I want my love to grow as large as my grief. Perhaps now, life is like the calm after the last crack of lightning takes the storm with the wind. I see reflections in rain drops that have settled on the sweet grass and these reflections show me a person who is stuck in her head, stuck in a rut.

I haven’t gotten my truck stuck recently and maybe this is the litmus test of adventure. I would get myself stuck every few weeks in Pagosa—sometimes in the driveway and sometimes at the foot of a mountain. One time, I had a choice to either ride my bike back to town or climb a mountain to use my phone. I climbed the mountain. I didn’t go back. And all was well. Here I am again creating mountains in my mind and soft hills in my body as I become sedentary and less like a hummingbird, more like a human. I read a friends blog this morning as she hikes the PCT and remember dehydrating and vacuum sealing enough meals for six months with a friend hiking the AT. Some plan, some don’t, some call it quits, some won’t.

Its another Sunday morning and I’m waiting to hear from the loggers just outside of town down the mountain range I now call home. I know they love the gentle call of the trees and flowers. The rushing rivers and big sky. I will absorb their anxiety as well as mine and exist in the middle of a storm because there is so much energy in the crashing of my thoughts, in the wind of the blood swooping through my veins. They’ve been fly fishing and I made a comment that I don’t like fishing because its so still. My life is still right now, my body calm. I’m not violently in love, I’m not violently in sadness. I simply am.

“I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than trees.”

-Henry David Thoreau