highway 97
The little one and I are driving through the high desert. Why is the moon so big and then so small? Why are the aspen yellow? Why is that coyote asleep? Why did that ridge run into the water? What do those elk smell like? Why did that star fall down? Where did the river start? All of these questions, I answer for him while he sleeps, puckers his lips, baby sounds. In a few weeks, he will make one-year-old sounds.The tamarack make me uneasy; they shouldn't change with the seasons the way they do. Those naked hills make me uneasy; I avert my eyes to give them their privacy. The wind farms make me uneasy; something so big should not be so silent. I'm ultimately not suited for these open spaces. I need something to hide under, a tree to climb, a fence to ignore. I need a place where I can wait out the storm.
He stirs. I realize that- above teaching him how this land gives and takes without our permission, how it teaches us about something mightier, how it provides warmth, food, comfort, and life - above all of this, I am his place to wait out the storm.
posted by jessica @ 10:58 PM
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