Mystic Writer

Peeking out to see if there is a real world out there...

Friday, March 25, 2005

Geese of fire

A week ago I couldn't get out of bed.

I arrived back from the elation of my vacation to a city which compressed my soul and a day of work that boggled my mind.

The evening of St. Patricks day and a nieces 21st birthday provided ample outlet for my frustrations. The youth of our party entertained themselves mightily by feeding my need with a variety of beverages.

I have not been drunk in a long time and I enjoyed the freedom of inebriation. The morning after was a horrible combination of situational and alcohol depression with a huge twist of physical agony.

Trying to find my equilibrium has been a slow thing, and last night as the full moon rose in the afternoon sky I knew I needed something wonderful.

I headed northwest to a wildlife refuge and strapping on my backpack I set off. The wind blew lonely cross the prairie and the bluestem and indian grasses rustled quietly. Off in the distance I could hear the gentle cacophony of geese, duck, and crane settling into a meltwater pond.

The sun set slowly, turning the prairie gold, then pink, then purple. Geese restlessly crossed the sky as I restlessly crossed the prairie. A deer bounded high toward the treeline and paused to look at me for a while.

The trail turned into a stand of pines and in the dappled moonlight I found the trail covered in ice that looked for all the word like polished marble. I skated my way along, watching the moon slide in and out of the tree tops and listening to the whisper of the wind through the boughs.

Slowly the trail climbed and the ice was replaced by snow. At the crest of the hill I could look westward across a prairie flat to the far horizon. The wind was fierce as it broke against the hill and I sat face into it to meditate on the swaying of a birch tree.

The focus wouldn't come but I felt a peacefulness settle into me, and as I sat on the lonely hilltop I pictured lines of connection to the people and places I love. I whispered my thoughts and wishes, talked of my dreams, then lapsed into an easy silence.

The stars slowly whirled and tilted and finally, when the cold became too much, I creaked my way to my car and silently drove to a house that isn't my home.


  • At 11:21 AM, Blogger Nicky said…

    Very beautiful writing as usual. Sorry your house isn't your home - I know how that feels. One day you'll find it though. My thoughts are with you Mystic.

  • At 4:02 AM, Blogger sage said…

    I loved your post from the desert and the pictures of the high desert. It sounds as if you and your son had a wonderful trip. I moved from SW Utah a year ago and miss hiking the most. My daughter loved the canyons--she was less than six months when I took her on her first hike.


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