I don't want to be the person that hopes to never again encounter the material that I'm tested on. I mean, this is supposed to be my career, and supposedly I will be doing this stuff every workday for the rest of my life. I can't help dreaming about being an archaeologist, or a marine biologist, or a mountain climber. Or John Wesley Powell, rafting his way down the sandy red Colorado. Or Edward Abbey climbing around the red rock and making ramadas out of dried juniper branches.. I really pray that I don't lose my way, which I have just recently found. Being away from the west has deepened for me its sweetness. In the city is where I have been the most cognizant of wanting to be away from it. I can't be alone, can I? This summer I refuse to do that thing where I scheme up plans to wwoof in New Mexico and then chicken out 'cause I get headaches when it's so hot. So I won't say anything, but I think the Rockies may be involved.
Mt. Shasta
Singin' songs in the grove by the Old Town cabin.
My living room this afternoon. I swear, the sun didn't even bother rising over the horizon today. It just hovered in this grey waning way and barely broke through that fog, which is another feature that is just more magnificent in the west. I imagine the winding path up to Mt. Tamalpais from Muir Beach at 2 am.
Piece of the southwest straight from Kentucky.
Been watching this lately before bed. Sweet dreams.
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