Up the hill.
One day ago, as I returned home after work, I thought that I might like to journey up the hill, which overlooks Athens from the east. I grabbed my pack (a wool blanket, poncho, sweater, small pot, rope, ground spikes, jacket and water), jumped on my bike and rode across the river, along the highway, past a police man, up the hill, right by the carcass of a deer. Its chest bones were white and clean, but its head was still with flesh and fur. Its eyes were dark.
I left my bike by the carcass.
Up the hill, I climb briskly. Soon I look out over the highway and across the river to Athens. Ahead to the right, I see my porch. Is Liz still lying there reading her book?
Behind me a group of people. We exchange stares. Then, I put down my pack and go introduce myself. Soon, we're all friends.
Dive into the woods. Looking for sticks. I find a few from the Sycamore.
Shall I build a bed? Shall I pitch a tent? Let me just explore.
Taking specimens from the field: a dried grass, a couple dried woody plants, the stalk from a large mullein - but not the largest one there!
The group of people is long gone by now. I return with my specimens to find three new people. Introductions as I arrange my specimens: piles according to kind, each to its own.
Now a fire. I already have the sticks. My specimens are tinder and kindling. A lighter sparks. Sacred flame.
Flame for dinner. I've brought stew fixin's: scallion, jerusalem artichokes, coltsfoot, carrot, green beans, spinach, bread with butter. All into the pot! Boiling water! Before the sun sets I've eaten my meal and re-packed everything. Now I sit and watch the sun.
It slips away across the horizon. The sky is a prism of color: deep blue to blue-green, yellow, orange. The sunlight is intense. It slips away, and I'm gone, down the hill to my bike. I have a gift: a walking stick, light and strong.
I'm home. I sleep.
I left my bike by the carcass.
Up the hill, I climb briskly. Soon I look out over the highway and across the river to Athens. Ahead to the right, I see my porch. Is Liz still lying there reading her book?
Behind me a group of people. We exchange stares. Then, I put down my pack and go introduce myself. Soon, we're all friends.
Dive into the woods. Looking for sticks. I find a few from the Sycamore.
Shall I build a bed? Shall I pitch a tent? Let me just explore.
Taking specimens from the field: a dried grass, a couple dried woody plants, the stalk from a large mullein - but not the largest one there!
The group of people is long gone by now. I return with my specimens to find three new people. Introductions as I arrange my specimens: piles according to kind, each to its own.
Now a fire. I already have the sticks. My specimens are tinder and kindling. A lighter sparks. Sacred flame.
Flame for dinner. I've brought stew fixin's: scallion, jerusalem artichokes, coltsfoot, carrot, green beans, spinach, bread with butter. All into the pot! Boiling water! Before the sun sets I've eaten my meal and re-packed everything. Now I sit and watch the sun.
It slips away across the horizon. The sky is a prism of color: deep blue to blue-green, yellow, orange. The sunlight is intense. It slips away, and I'm gone, down the hill to my bike. I have a gift: a walking stick, light and strong.
I'm home. I sleep.
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