i open my eyes most mornings expecting to be somewhere else.
i ran out of razors the day we got here. since i turned thirteen i've been growing a beard all day long, everyday. but there are certain times of the year i decide to stop preventing it. i let it get course and full and i start to use more napkins at supper.
there is a big locust tree in the backyard that barely shivers even when the wind reaches 50 mph. straight line winds they call them. here i can look one of my demons right in the eye.
i think about the brave people that settled this land. i think about them wondering through the tall grasses with only the unknown ahead of them.
i think about them leaning into the 50 mph winds and sleeping under skies painfully full of stars.
i sat in the barbers chair and he told me stories about the navy, he knew i was new to town simply because he'd never seen me. he takes his time and he doesn't take appointments. i waited almost two hours while sitting next to an old rancher, both of us watching a football game neither of us cared about. when the barber finished with each customer he'd say "now... doesn't that feel better?"
the snow storm came quickly carried on the back of more heavy winds. the ranchers north of here didn't have time to move their cattle. many ended up buried under ten foot snow drifts. the radio says some might have lost eighty percent of their herd. i wonder what being caught under ten feet of heavy october snow would be like.
i'm going to stand in a trout stream tomorrow. i'm going to wash myself of these thoughts. i know the cold mountain water will dull the ache of memories left behind. then i can start fresh on the other side with more then just the unknown ahead of me.