Foreword ——— I went for a long walk yesterday. I jotted down some of the things I was thinking. All this stuff below is common when I’m alone and outside for a while. This is what I wrote down. Pardon any harshness.
I sit here, perched on a granite bench above the Pine River, shirt unbuttoned and smoothly flapping behind me. The cool air from spring runoff cuts through the welcoming warmth of a changing season. I’m back at this spot exactly 365 days from my last visit. Last year I was mesmerized by the watered down chocolate milk that desired so deeply to reach the reservoir twelve or so miles away. I approach this year with caution. I know our winter was less than stellar and the continued drought has sucked the melting snow to its core and it’s still thirsty. Faint cries for help emit from the soil. Peering over the ledge and comparing photos and videos from last years runoff is saddening. It just isn’t the same. Climate fluctuates, yes, and so does the peak flow, but a sense of urgency erodes me to a fine dust. I too need water to feel normal again. I’ve planted myself firmly within these mountains and I try my very best to empathize. I’m left wandering around in my own thoughts, navigating helplessness, excitement and hope, confusion, longing and understanding. My mood shifts with the seasons. I’m brought again and again to my knees to feel the pulse and listen to the breathing. But what can I do? Will the lifestyle choices I’ve made amount to anything at all? Simply existing is doing harm. It’s a pessimistic view, no doubt, but I recognize the privilege I have to consider anything other than my immediate survival. I take it as it is and how it will forever be. We’re living through the choices of the past and at the mercy of previous generations, I want to document changes and beauty and the good that remains. There’s still so much to admire and to find comfort in. I await the next batch of wildflowers, monsoons and the restarting of the cycle. Tracing the bark of a ponderosa with my finger, the honey colored rump of a baby bear slowly lumbers back into the woods after we lock eyes. The chill of excitement flows down my limbs and I’m left to wonder again about the things I don’t know.