Northwest comments

10/20

I can see how you could get depressed up here. The dismal sky pressing down, crushing the tree tops, smothering everything with the same dull gloom. Asphyxiating.

And I can see how at some point in life, there is more past than future. And if you are on that (unstoppable) treadmill – the past receding to shadowy memories astern; the threshold ahead loomimg larger every day – it could be depressing as well. 

But that is not me. I have my past. But I have my future too.

A birthday, uncelebrated

The inlet, slick black like marble, reflects the stars in its stillness.

Few lights betray this tender slip of land. The embers of my little cigar. The flash of headlights through distant woods. The blue flicker of tv next door, like a thunderstorm encapsulated within the boxy walls.

Across the way the great blue has roosted in a lofty pine. The stream, where the otters live, untiringly flows.

The big dipper nests perfectly, like a saucepan, over the silhouette of the forest. I have seen it – on end, upended, topsy turvy, around the globe. This world is a beautiful place. What a gift to have seen so much of it. 

                                                                                                                   

Oh Brooke, you left us much too soon. Do you watch this from above, and delight?

Washington. The state.

You’ve probably never seen the movie FLESH GORDON. But if you have, you know what I mean when I say the First Class seats on Virgin America have these ridiculous penisaurus-like phalli sprouting out from between the headrests, all cockeyed (haw haw haw! i am hysterical over this pun!) and curious with big-one-eyed stupor. If were a man – a real man – there is no way in hell I would fly First Class with one of those things sticking out by my head.

Yes. Another flight. This time: Seattle. But what does it matter. I am tired of moving around and tired of staying put. So this trip is part work, part respite. A touch of cool, of relaxed; a change-of-scenery; a visit; an unzip-the-skull-mind-opening-brain-draining-reset between the pages (to be written: mine).

I arrived eight hours ago – a pleasant blur of tall pine trees from the conspicuous red Jeep simmering oil as it bounced down the road; bridges, harbors, fjords and mountains pointed out; a fabulous dinner; and magic water. Of all the things on my mind as I sink into my second story bed beneath the timbers, as the wind whistles and rattles the blinds; it’s the water. Susan has me started on the magic water and already it’s having an anticipated (not eagerly) effect. The sleepy ginger cat lifts his head as my tummy rumbles; it brings to mind the  giardia episode. But I won’t get into that here and now. Time for rest.