winding, crooked trails

I started this place as a travelogue, photo site, and my ode to my spiritual center, the American West.  My god has it ever evolved into something I never fathomed, never imagined.  That was August, 2004, heading on two years (we can do the fucking math Edge)

Wholebunchafuckingchanges.

So I'm going, it's not that I wasn't, I just wasn't sure if I could, should, would.  But I am going, back, to the land of spires and sanguine rocks and chasms and red dusty dust, sandstone, pinon and pine, mesquite and juniper, mountains and a sky to cry to, from, for, with.


Photo (best viewed fucking huge) courtesy of Neena, our gracious and lovely hostess next week, mountain biker, hiker, chef(ette), wife of Don (lucky fuck), native Utahan, and more.  She says, this is the view from the campsite....sigh.  Primitive, no water, tables, facilities, pop machines, lights, people, nuttin, but this.  Longer sigh.  We'll be ten miles from another person, hopefully, maybe a couple of other campers a few miles away, I tell you about the sky, that was the lit day sky, the night?  My god, you forgot how many stars there are, you look up, think, I am such.....a......small.......part......of..........all........this, just let me be some part, and let me be full of it, and wonder, wander, sit, sigh.

I see, and if you look closely you can too, winding, crooked trails.  Back to the beginning.  The quote is from Edward Abbey and is actually crooked, winding trails.  I changed it, dunno why but it's hard to imagine this place being crooked, winding trails I think.  Somewhere back in the archives the whole benediction is quoted, it's haunting and lovely and has stuck to the roof of my soul from the day I first read it.  Funny, it's become such a part of my identity.

So I'm going, Saturday, quick stop at my folks in Vegas, then onward and upward, outward.  I got excited yesterday, finally, what the fuck was I thinking?  Slightly distracted here, floor pacing, churlish, grumpy, stoic bastard that I've been.  Neena, the contagion of your excitement and enthusiasm makes bird flu look like getting an STD off a toilet seat (you catch that bathroom humor Stel?)

Gonna meet a couple fellow bloggers (ugh), that'll be cool.  There are a couple of you Utahan bloggers (ugh) who should join us, really, even if just for a day, or a night.  Bring the Volvo and the twins girl, hell, bring the husband if you must.  Anybody wanna know where we are, just ask me, I'd publish it here but some of these folks might be dealing with stalkers and we don't want the campfire stories turning real. 

Yeah, I'm stoked, like the campfires we'll have.  It's time, the right time.  I'm goin', to wind, and crook, and trail my old (not saggy) ass off.  I may spin a yarn (knitters present you know), weave a tale, bark, howl, roll in the dirt, splash in the creek, there ain't no plan Stan.  Just set yourself free. 

Those of you so complimentary bout the recent tale, thank you, it means a lot.  A post is easy to put out there, you dribble some fiction and hitting publish is scary like not having a job. 

Out, maybe another chapter before I go.  That Chloe, she something, huh?

Polish the hiking boots or no.....fuck it.