SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Monday, May. 24, 2004 @ 6:33 pm
Lillooet Lake



Logs break the surface of the lake like orcas. Roadside weeds, the lupines, the wild roses, feverfew and the cinquefoils. Blackberries in flower, grashes swish waist high.

In firelight the men appraise me, Ed holds my face and turns it to and fro, shadows shifting in consequence. Wild hair, blinking eyes, they see something I don't. "Tianna.. Tianna twenty years from now?" They nod in agreement, "You've got this thing, so cute. You've just got it." Tianna being a daughter? Who's daughter? Who's ex-wife do I look like?

I'm confused, astounded in the moment of silence during their concurring nods. Ed runs his hand down my face, neck and onto my shoulder. He rubs my arm and his hand slides around my chest and I flinch but don't care.

The rain falls on the tarps, rivers run between the shelters. A campfire of driftwood; the site quakes as the logging trucks hurl past all through the night.

I creep in the 2am blur to the lakeshore, pile my clothes on a rock and sink into the glacier-fed black waters. It burns my skin and takes my breath but I submerge. Reach out into the liquid ice, pull it from infront to behind. Streaming hair behind me, tangling with the driftwood and woodchips.

In the day it is the opposite. Hot waters, steaming hotsprings, St. Agnes' Well. Skin and tufa, easy conversations. Substances used in combination with the natural infusion of magic hotspring immortality.

Hot water, cold water, happy, sad, everything all at once, whether at home or in the woods. On the road, at least I feel like I'm going somewhere...



On the logging road


Roots | Shoots