They were so blazing in brightness that the black circular dots on their backs stood out like an ice cream hut in a desolate New Mexican desert. Against the trails they stood out even more like a blemish on a model or a sixty-toed,20-eyed,plaid-skinned gypsy moth at a boat sale. So casual and fiery, I often find it easy to sit close and watch their calmness. I'm sure they feel affectionate about a giant human-flesh creature hovering over their tranquility, leering down with an amusement worn as an expression.
Then again, horseflies are ballsy enough to attack a creature 18 times it's size, so like David against Goliath or a Smurf against a giant turtle posing as a continent, the difference of stature does not always jeopardize courage.
Days beforehand I wandered into a large tortoise near Recluse Stream.
From the first photo it obviously looked as if there were a possibility of life. Yet approaching closer proved a crispiness resulting from the heat (as a Doktor's-guess.) The soil creature had unfortunately been docked. It's shell was impressive and it's age likely to have been qualified for many birthday candles. Do turtles celebrate birthdays?
Back to the Newts:
Passing newt number four and newt number five: Legs have done days of biking on a flat-rimmed, squish-tired, stuck-gear, lopsided-handle-barred bike and now a sturdy amount of trail walking commenced further flesh bending.
And two hawks spun in the air. and little baby bugs harassed the skin with little baby bug bites. If there is an immunity to avoiding skin-nipping bugtagonists it is to lose them when they are not looking. That is when bug spray or yelling at them to stop are choices you would rather not indulge in. Just run. They surely won't catch you
Your efforts of escape surely won't be an amusing joke to the tiny winged things, surely to lose you, and not chomp into you the second you stop thinking you have lost the lot of them.
The wrist watch I had drawn, again, onto my arm seemed to have stopped working so it was only a guess as to how long I had been up there at the lookout. The watch said 11:48 when I started yet it remained 11:48 before I chose to depart.
There were three ways to go.
The way back down from which you came, The second way around which goes a full circle and back down to the bottom trail, and that way which you have never went before. The first two ways are trails. You can recognize, by color coded bark scribbles, how to keep from wandering off into uncertainty. I chose the third way.
I decide to go somewhere where the newts didn't even show up. Unless they were hiding. They're (un)known for that.
Some action of throwing the self into a quick rapid.
You never realize how slippery your shoes are until you decide to descend down a mountain side that is loose with leaves and topped with fine soil.
A water thermos and tripod are looped through a camera strap and the best way is to slide sitting on the ground using your shoes as boats. This was the third way.
Convincing somebody else to go with you would be more of a nightmare than the actual plummet itself.
That is why sometimes it is best to solo into adventures that would seem hellish or insane to somebody else at first glance.
Shaking up anxiety and then over-coming it or riling up the new can spark something you've never known about yourself.
But, secretly, anxious at first or bewildered by possible stupidity of the situation, I think certain people would love to get trapped into such adventures. Others I could see possibly arguing for minutes over which safe-trail to take back down.
Until you JUMP into the slide and it is either come-along with me or go back down the safe way.
some action of throwing the self into a quick rapid
Deciding to get lost, to abandon having any familiarity of anything around you... to have no choice but to become more aware of your surroundings and self... there becomes no excuse for distraction. Leniency becomes forbidden and impossible.
So I slid down and down and down. Piles of leaves with slick shoe bottoms gliding me down. I knew it was far and I knew that it was steep but it started to even surprise me "I am not at the flat Yet!?"
The stupidity of the act started to rise. Perfect. Morph that idiotness of the situation into some kind of enjoyment. 'This is a life, Okay. Going back up would be painful and a retreat."
some action of throwing the self into a quick rapid
The choice to become lost unites memories that serve as a sort of subconscious underworld. They [memories] can re-emerge into the present and act as a shadow or an antagonist if they are not properly taken care of.
They become alive again; The mythos of hades becomes a mentality..
But also, I think, Eden can arrive when the second self is met.. As to look back at things you currently or have once feared and to embrace them and even find pleasure in those moments.
We become what we are by the ailments we avoid. One less thing to fear and shun is one more thing to experience and learn from.
So then the roaming and investigation of all-that-lay-beyond begins.
That is a difference between growing and thinking you are already solidified or finalized. It becomes childish to enter a hectic or foreign situation but so much more can be learned from facing that chaos or fear and then re-stabilizing in the unknown: Searching for a wisdom of childishness. After all it was those new, surprsing moments that we entered and tested as children that brought us into the forms we accept as solid in our personalities now.
To a child every experience seems new and refreshing or exciting to the senses. Then we become punished for our curiosities but to re-establish and tamper with the patterns I think brings out that 'roamer.'
(Curious and smart enough for new tastes and idiotic and foolish enough to risk securities and sometimes even life depending on the jumps.)
some action of throwing the self into a quick rapid. Note:Worrying too much causes worrying too much.
It eventually came to large stones predicting a leveling to change from such a long ways of sliding. Once it became flat there was a good 18 minutes of walking, in one direction, following the insight of what kind of plants were growing in groups and the hollowness of the ground versus any wetness where one may begin to sink indefinitely.
Knowledge and quirps become a cluster of rattling objects in a large cemented ball all trying to escape out of a pinhole. You, or I at least, felt that certain informations were ultimately useless. The spaces to fill an area were sometimes so novelty that you start to compare your situation to: If I were dedicated to getting completely lost without a single security, would I be able to function on living amongst all of this?
What kind of information could I trade off or could have sacrificed to look around to the Earth that surrounds me and confidently be able to say "Okay I'm going to eat this now and it's not going to kill me in the most annoying way." All of my mental stats of novelty opinions would ultimately die in that concrete rattle, being useless in self sufficiency.
Ferns okay Honey Mustard okay.
Well then ultimately you start to learn and prepare, then recognize an ass-kicking joke that tells you that the risk of gambling Earthly foods/delights may be just as fair a risk as a daily input of f.d.a. approved foods.
into a quick rapid
Eventually it started to get marshy.
Really this was the land before time. No wall-clocks. Wondering just when the last time that it really was since a human biped had walked through these grounds.
Old friends and climbing up hills. We had hatchets and built forts. Shoes were better dirty. Lighting sears catalog bra model ads on fire and climbing to the very height of swaying trees just to get a view of which direction may cause a vigor for the limitless child. Limitless until curfew and the next school session where your curiosities are ailments and imbalances.
We'd, my childhood tribe-friends and I, would sometimes come across things like old decayed trucks in the woods and they would be like the jewelbox of treasures to cave dwellers or the satisfying grail for the seekers. Having those feelings reflect to this were another surprise from entering down that hill to the unknown, into your own self, a kind of mental key agreed upon.
Wear a long sleeve, dumbass, great idea.
Blue dragonflies circled in either direction along the entire base of the pond. Frogs near the shore set of their alarm sound before hopping in to where the soup layer of pond film quickly patched the hole into where the frogs took cover.
After hopping myself over some mud that sunk who knows how far into who knows what I found my first sign of human bipeds.
Slunk into the ground like once the bodies that who have drank them
A pile of bottles were clomped in moss like the bodies that had sank them.
and I emptied the contents down into my gullet allowing the liquid contents of the mystery bottles to merge with my innards.
(Authors note: This is either a display of fantasy and needed amusement to excite the story telling or a true event to which I had survived or the fungal possibilities have not yet caught up to effect or kill me. You decide.)
There is something about finding older things, even mechanisms of drunkenness, that light an interest of a time capsule. The absurd idea of wondering (are there absurd things to wonder about? Rebecca!??) of what somebody may think if they find a plastic coca cola bottle or a dented beer can decades from now only offers some meek embarrassment about a present generation. Though somehow the shapes of these glass bottles match that nostalgia of pretending to know the things they have seen or who may have handled them.
Also wondering how many things we own and maintain, we rely on.. What will live on to be antiques or even become uncovered or how much of it will plastically-plaster away? To find these bottles and then a piece of an old sink telling that somebody resided here allowed a feeling of seeing how all of the streams replace to new paths. Floods come through and change the regular curves and S's of ditches carved out that the water was convinced was the correct path. A calmness of carelessness then emerges. All of that yarpling about billboard signs I loathe of will only be a presence of placement as they will all dismantle.
Maybe some day a human biped will feel light footed and meander the off skirts of an old city or vegas and under the marsh and bramble discover a giant head. A giant head with a mustard-like, time-stained smile grin of a tattoo model from a once-advertisement. Small whiskey bottles will still be scattered feet below the surface somewhere. Laptops will however be mooshy smithereens with cities of data mixed with leaf crisps replaced by newer leniency or forgotten.
The birds eat those chasy bugs and frogs cast their horns
Pass a larger pond and leave a shed of masks
Then hop eight times past more swamp slime and make it back to the tracks
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