April In August

It is the end of August and I have no thoughts of leaves turning to fall, or the coming insulation of snow that already is preparing to brush out its white bankets over everything known from its perch in some not so far away place. In my mind everything is April. Life is stepping out for the first time on stiff shoe leather. Everything is brand new, taunt with possiblity; a whole world in which doubt has yet to court with the weight of gravity. Everything that was has already fallen to decompose, sprout, seed new life, and flower its very desirable sister-- Hope.

Whenever I have stopped walking, an inner ear is against my ribs listening, decerning, weighing, looking without eyes for the next trail sign. My gestures are then free to entertain stangers or old friends, explore with a camera lenses ready at my eye, or simply sleep until it is the oddity of sleeping in a bed wakes me. Even when the feverant need to continue the walk appears to be itself asleep, there is this listener that has no need for sleep, or the gentle tangle of heart over women, or concerns over the coming on of winter. No longer do I need an excuse to be leaving. I now am questioned by many when my feet recline by any fire for more than is needed to prepare food, or when my pen rests too long on a shore where the water is good. Leaving is what I have become. Leaving. The gentle tap tapping comes up from inside just barely decernable at first. In days the tapping becomes fingers drumming on a tin hat; the ear within talking to the outer ears. It is time. If I do not walk soon a thick swell will come up over my heart, blocking out light. I'll be a party where everyone has gone home, standing alone in a bone quiet hall littered with paper garland and the smell of stale perfume from a hundred dancers that were just here. For a little while there will be this feeling of sweat on my tongue as I swollow being alone once again. There is a time for leaving.
Already I think of the end of all of these steps, these living stories. I must be careful. For now leaving is my life. Sometimes it is clear, "Thank you for staying with us. Do you need help with your pack? It looks so heavy. Are you sure we can't bring you somewhere?" Sometimes leaving is a wagging lattern heading for my fire in the middle of the night, the talking voices of men sounding like shouts because it is so cold, snow falling on a nylon shelter, and the smell of gun oil or the memory of it, making my cold hands move fast. I have been in those woods several times when I crossed an unseen sign in the dark, or simply ignored signs, passed over a line only the locals knew. Only ash from my fire was found in the end. Leaving is listening.


My brother Bobbie has taken great care to bring alot of my boxes into safety at his home. I am grateful as he mumbles up the stairs with yet another box of books I couldn't part with. Last details come together.
The Alexcia I used to know moves around the house that was once ours with notepaper and a measuring tape in her hand. Smiling over the same feelings I wrestle with, I watch her consider then re-consider a cabinet or stuffed animal, and then move to another room. We are stepping over memories. One wrong step will send either one of us to the couch for an emotional time out. I watch Alexcia move with my eyes bright. I am thrilled for her new beginning, for our new beginnings. Feeling my eyes, Alexcia stops and lifts her eyes to me. The majority of our speaking about old trails is done. We just smile now as morning comes through the windows where the indoor plants once put shadows on us as the sun rose in our cups of coffee.
People that once knew my voice now begin to know another. Life is change, flux. Friends I thought that I knew are also becoming different people. I hold them up to the light and wonder how I never saw a admirable characteristic before. Just as the smell of a delicious meal prepares the mouth for glory before a bite is taken, I can already taste this next leaving from the smell that is in the air. My life is just beginning. The walk is still promising to take me home.