"When by mutation a new rose is born in a garden, all gardeners rejoice.
They isolate the rose, tend it, foster it. But there is no gardener for men"
- an unrelated quote by the little prince
On occasion, I may spy my shadow and decant upon mine own uniformity.
(Richard iii fans go fucking wild upon realizing how good that line was).
The wind whipping around my robe, trekking poles resting like swords in a
standard, the hood's exceptional ability to mask the shape of the head. It
reminds me of the earth's ability to rebuke the advances of time despite
its vastness. And so we find ourselves, more or less (give this one to me,
we must sacrifice content for aesthetics), walking among the same rocks the
furthest of our ancestors walked. I see the hardened nomadic people's
forging there way across difficult terrain. For that was a necessary part
of their life, and so they did.
At least it's fun to imagine your shadow as a window into your spiritual
ancestors of ol'. Idk try it next time you're walking a desert floor for
hours at midday while carrying 2 days water.
My tunes: Next Best Western and Willin by Richard shindell
My leap frog group: smoked 'em, obviously. If you've been paying attention
to this very detailed, consistent blog, you knew that was all but certain.
They prob eating my dust 8 miles back. Hope Annie takes the trail name I
offered her, despite me running laps on their sorry behinds, or, whatever
the 2600 mile long track with no loop version of that is
Comments
You must login before you can comment.