Some days you just want to run for the hills. Lately for me it’s most days.
The escapism offered in the Great Basin is second only to Alaska in the US.
It taints your soul with a sweet stench not many will ever find inviting or satisfying. Lately I’ve had to leave it alone to ferment, tainting my mind with grandeur and the illusions that come along with it.
There’s something inert inside some people that comes alive when you live this way. Sacraments are offered in ways you don’t understand no matter your reasoning.
But some things remain the same. The constant grinding on the landscape from the elements, the magnetic pull to defy them, and the reminders coffered in the nagging resentment in a day during hunting season spent in sweat pants sipping soup and clutching weakly at modern culture before you become completely separated from those you consider important.
There is nothing to gain from being stuck firmly between two worlds. I feel stretched to the limits by obligations to myself and others more painful and tedious then ever as the hair begins to thin and turn ashen on my scalp.
Digested as a whole this makes the days in the field all the much sweeter.
And god damn my lack of a sweet tooth, I’m not leaving a thing for the ants.