Looking over my story so far, I have climbed a mountain that I couldn’t reach last winter; walked on water—the ice of Fremont Lake; slid through meadow and forest on Nordic skis, snowshoed over deep snow, and disobeyed the covid rules I learned in California. I have many flaws, but you can’t accuse me of maturing.
Let us suppose for the sake of a happy narrative that I am free to romp like the mind of God, creating here and there little stories from nothing. Whatever I think appears.
To go to the mountains helps me realize myself
they tell me quickly where I am weak
and where I am strong
they tell me how I feel that day
and how much I am changing
they teach me more than a university
WRANGLER CAFE
5:00am - it’s zero degrees outside
6:00am - I go outside, start the jeep
come back inside
6:10am - I’m driving north to Pinedale in the dark
6:30am - six pickups in front of the Wrangler Café
6:10am - I’m driving north to Pinedale in the dark
6:30am - six pickups in front of the Wrangler Café
big husky pickups.
5 cowboys and a cowgirl
sit at the big round table
they talk about horses
cattle and fences
I’m gonna sell out
then retire, one says
I bought one of them mustangs
twenty-five dollars, another retorts
best horse I ever had
Old barn siding on the inside walls
like we had in Tennessee
plaque on the wall, “A Cowboy is a Patriot”
they had a roundup of wild mustangs
700 of ‘em for sale at $25
you have to have the facilities.
one year to train the wild horse
and then you own it
Tiny bubbles in the ice
from rotting corpses
on the bottom
stop rising when they hit the ice
it thickens around them
older bubbles near the surface
recent bubbles deeper
unlike bubbles in the ice
recent footprints are near me
easy to remember
easy to redo
if only the old ones
were near enough to change
easy to redo
if only the old ones
were near enough to change
