Thursday, February 18, 2016
just finished reading 'wild' by cheryl strayed, which had been recommended by several to me, specifically. and i did, i did, i did like it.
it is still fresh by my side and i'd like it to keep going, i'd like to watch her unravel and ravel and i'd like to be not talking, by her side, as i hike my own narrow path.
all along, i was with her. I felt like Sebastian and the never ending story, i was there, i was watching, a pair of eyes beyond the tent walls...
i could feel her release at believing her mother was just the other side of the river. a tiny sentence, an untalked revelation... a literal spacing, a burble containing heartbeats of the beloved. the silence of the walking, the walking. dependance on the foot, unreliability of the foot, irrelevance of the foot. winnowing. WINNOW.
one of my favorite words, ever.
the book is open. the box is laid low.
the plans have been blown to shit
and the wind is still gusting.