Rooted, I used to think.

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I am loved. - Tuesday, Sept. 15, 2020
The Moths - Friday, Sept. 11, 2020
The Chief - Tuesday, Sept. 01, 2020
Shelter - Monday, Aug. 24, 2020
Sunset Swimming - Saturday, Aug. 22, 2020

Monday, Aug. 17, 2020 @ 1:38 pm
Sky Pilot

I hike up a steep slope of boulders and scree. Patches of vibrant magenta monkeyflowers quiver in the alpine breeze.

I approach a creek that emerges from the toe of a hanging glacier. I bend at the knees and put my hands on the ground, prostrating myself to the rocky landscape, and I push my mouth into the water. The cold water flows against my hot face. I take in the water and fill myself with it.

We are alone in the alpine. We scramble up across a slab of pink granite, exposure of a thousand meters to the valley bottom. I wait from below as he stems up a black, cool chimney. At the summit, he opens the steel canister and writes our names and the date in the log book.

We were here. We were here together.

Roots | Shoots