Two and a half miles near, but not in view of, the river. A silence that is scent, the scent silent in silent assent. The ascent of this idea or thought: variable gravity. Let us suppose that on this earth, instead of gravity being a steady, predictable thing, it varies from person to person and day to day; let us know, through experience, that we cannot always count on having our feet on the ground, on being able to place one foot after the other as we follow the path; let us understand that there are times when we are bound to drift and hover, when getting where we want to go is more a matter of luck than a matter of course, and that arriving somewhere else might, after all, really be better. Two and a half miles among cottonwoods and rust, down to the simple fact that many of us must walk that far and much farther to fetch water for our daily needs. Variable gravity. Fetching water. Onward, onward, onward, in silent descent.
September 17, 2021
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: Assumptions, Cottonwoods, Diaries, Experience, Gravity, Hiking, Journals, Rust, Scent, Silence, Walking, Wants and Needs, Water