Terrebonne, Oregon.

Steens Mountain, Oregon.

Winnemucca, Nevada.

Snow, wet and without scorn, falls. A heaven is obscured; the humped vertebrates of rock that form thousand foot hills appear then disappear then appear like a devil roiling, diving and being generally spirited along in a hundred mile lake of hell. Deer, darting between the great carnival wheels of rolling, suspended irrigation systems, fire themselves around fallow, winter-lost fields with synaptic ease. Ravens make playful questions in and of a sky that is pewter and distance-less. A single coyote howls and the sound is stretched quickly to the point of disconnect. There is no space out here for the music of animals — we’ve given the day over to whatever weather is. Hands were bound in the beds we awoke in. Spirits were asked to seat themselves down and enjoy the show. The blast furnace of mind feels its metal cooling, contracting, if only for today. The wheels slow as sightlines are cramped. Prejudice against any day is a Telegraph Avenue walk in a blizzard – never right.

Mt. Jefferson, Oregon.

Leaving Anchorage, Alaska:


Terror. Being asked to move – flight that seeps into the brain and beams out through the eyes. A wry smile. An impossible nod of the head that wishes a warm hand were holding it dear. Feeling alone. Knowing the Great Push of feeling. Asking for nothing. Receiving. Otiose, pithy, laconic, distant, perspicacious — toppings for the sundae that I can’t quite eat before it melts. Racing toward what comes next while colliding with what comes now. The fucking wheels are off the bus, but I steer with a maudlin intensity and cackling bones. Throw a dart, hit the board, land. Unable to focus; terrified not because I don’t want to see, but because I cannot. Travel – the chance to continue moving, physically. Feeling my eyes harden out of necessity. Wanting to wink at the beautifully passionate in all things. A great interest in moving through place bigger than oneself. Travel – a leaving, a wound opened, a wound set of energies, a wind. Enliven, serve the whole. Day spins marvelous night from silk fingertips. Head open. Body buzzes with sober delight. You are unknown everywhere – FREE. So impossibly small are the environs where control is ultimate (maybe so big). Wicked thoughts toward those who aren’t attempting – attempting only to survive, no fault of their own. Look closely, scrutinize, come away with relative understanding and perception. The cracks in all places can be vicious, swallowing. Serve not what is, but what seems to be the appropriate compromise between what is and what should be. Travel – a surging that removes undue thunder from the night and makes that your days. Wanting, being willing to take. Taking respectfully. Still taking. Shouting paradox into the Void that is existence (understanding the someday silences to follow). Stretching out your arms to better weave them with all the others who are likewise. Grinning at your limitations, grokking even. Letting them know that you know. Befriending them – allies on The Road. Thankful for your shot. Being your best. Soaring. Soaring. Still soaring,. Know. Asking for things that do and don’t [yet exist]. Open eyes. Close mouth. Flourishing by understanding. Trembling, good trembling. Open space. Hurray.

Becoming a string of words: sentence; becoming a string of sentences: paragraphs; becoming a string of paragraphs: thought. Like lights strung along buildings or the bridges flying above them, we are creatures lined up to serve our best interests, purpose. The days are shotgun blasts that spray the sponge that is brain with quite a load. To begin again is to end anew. I suppose then I’ll welcome this year into my well-lit head.