Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
We take a late afternoon drive up to the Grand Canyon. This is probably the last time I will visit this magical place before I leave to see the rest of the country. I joke, I make light of it. “No more big ditch for a while.”
But I will miss it. She has shown me something here that I never saw before. A bit of the awe which she feels for the place has rubbed off on me. It saddens some part of me that this will no longer be a scant few hours away. But I am glad to have been here, to have seen this, and to have experienced this with somebody who has a love for it.
We are at Shoshone Point, and we are alone. She tells me that the wind normally howls here. Today the point was quiet, there was no wind.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
I lose my words. I do so in a very literal sense. A journal, nearly full, has decided to leave my side. Disappeared somewhere between the relative safety of my truck seat and the chaotic rest of my life. It was a simple thing of paper and ink, but the ink formed a picture of the man in the mirror. The man is still there, but I wonder now; how he came to exist from the man he was before. How will I look back and learn from those experiences which I will inevitably forget?
Not all was lost. About half of it had been transcribed and stored for safekeeping in the cloud of the internet. I check the date on the last entry I typed, and see words of the changing year and snowfall. Six months of recorded thoughts and tumultuous emotion, which I won’t be able to read through in the years to come. It is not a big deal, I tell myself. They were just words, and there will be plenty more of them in the future.