song to go along : 'White Winter Hymnal' by Fleet Foxes
in the woods there is a blanket of stillness, silence, crisply punctured by birdsong. the rain falls in musical patterns on the tent. packing your home the size of 2 gallons of water, but with a weight like packed leaves. fruit, nuts, berries. do you carry fire, water, shelter, your bed, waterproof skin, home, tools? carabineers, rope, handkerchiefs, plastic bags to put wet clothes or “pack it in, pack it out” created garbage. leave no trace. the scent of decomposing leaves washed clean by the rain. my spirit balloons into the open air. this is the mouth of the womb of the world. this mountain is pink and red, ‘basalt’ A.C. tells me, and she rocks, so she knows. grandmother rock supports me and trees float on narrow shelves of rock. the echoes of coyotes lap up the rock and ghosts answer on the mountain. lichens a growing multicolored language on rocks like dark meteorites not borne of this world. lightning arcs like strobe lights, illuminating the threads of branches and the undersides of leaves. thunder rumbles like a snoring dragon in the sky.
i found the sauce patterns of my lunch and the layers of charred burn remnants on our large communal pots to be elegantly formed
the house sends volunteers on a fact-finding mission to MC's bachelor pad.
KO and AR report these findings, with accompanying photographic evidence - of note [amid much well meaning and jovial laughter]:
cardboard boxes galore, empty plastic organizing shelves, bubble wrap, no curtains, random pieces of wood collection, plastic bags, recycling hordes, bare walls, broken cups, couch as storage space, horde of homebrew, nothing hanging in the bare closet, broken speakers, general strewing about of materials, many holes in the wall [not particularly his fault], differing shades of paint in various areas of room [previous occupants], non-closing closet doors...
patterns in worn wood.
a glass upset - an experience in frailty.