Camelbacking Poetry

Whaddya' know? It looks like Sunday might be my new blogging day. It's the second week in a row! Wow. I love Sundays--the feel of them: slow...mystical kinda'. The fact that Sunday is currently one of my days off only adds to the feeling.


(Taken on a Sunday.)

In a bit Nate and I are going to go for a hike. It's been too long since we've visited the mountains. It's hot out, of course, but we'll just have to suffer through it. It shouldn't be too bad. There's a few clouds floating around today, and it even SPRINKLED earlier! (I guess my rain dance worked.) It's a little late to head out, but I do like evening hikes. We had planned to get up early this morning--I set the alarm for 7:30, hit the snooze button for about an hour and a half, and then finally turned the stupid thing off. When I fell back asleep I had this incredibly long, achingly beautiful dream. I lost most of it upon waking. Hopefully I'll be able to recall some of it later.

Best be off. I just got out my Camelbak (I haven't used it months) and found one of my little notebooks in it that I had forgotten about. On the first page, between doodles, a poem thing I wrote, oh, a year ago?

-----

+fulcrum's grace
a sorrowed place between
the edge of life
& dreams of golden grass
one can run & run & never
find truth's chalice
passt the bone
& tendon of it
into doubt fling
all your habit
into the dark
& fly
unencumbered.

-----

Time to hike.