Diary 24
BROAD OF THE BLACK SPRING
She’s on her motorcycle through a dark, wet forest. A low fog engulfs everything on the forest floor, except for the bike’s tires, which swallow the road as everything disappears behind them. The cold, sweet wind stings her eyes & tousles her hair, setting her free from the place she came from. She rides unshackled, like time is infinite, & in confidence, knowing that she can take care of herself wherever she may end up.
OBLIQUE MEANING
Took a trail that runs through a watershed. In silence, I searched the ground & wandered off path, with the desire to find something tangible that would connect me to Nature, or back to myself, in some capacity. And about midway through, nestled into the damp Earth, I found calcite. I walked home with it’s weight in my hand, & added it to a collection of other rocks & minerals I have along my windowsill.
LEFT FOR THE WOLVES
My stepmom told me a story yesterday that left me thinking.
She was driving home from rural Wisconsin a few weeks ago and watched the truck in front of her hit a buck. Pieces of the truck flew into the air & scattered the side of the road, showering the bloodied & gasping buck, but the driver continued on, as if they’d merely hit a speed bump too fast. My stepmom, however, bless her damn heart, pulled off & went to check on our animal ally in it’s tortured state. It struggled to stand, & bled heavily from the mouth. She called 911, waited with the buck until an officer arrived, then was encouraged to leave before the cop shot it out of it’s suffering.
I’ve been thinking about who this driver is. I’ve tried a couple different narratives on them, looking for a place to put my anger. Maybe it was a teenager, maybe it was someone worn ragged from a 60 hour work week, or maybe it was exactly who I’d expect driving through Wisconsin in a big ass truck, who would hit a buck & keep driving: a racist, Trumpist, obnoxiously far right feller with no consideration or care for Nature. Whoever they may be, I hope that accident haunts them for awhile.
INSTINCT
My dog & I sat on my parents’ patio last night, listening to the bones of the house creak as it withstood a thunderstorm. How attentively she sat at my feet, perking her ears at every sound, & protected me from the war she heard happening outside; obedient to her instinct. Pellets of rain on the roof, thunder that rattled the windows, & flashes of lightning were violent acts occurring within the bounds of our home, that the sleeping bodies within it needed protection from, & so she sat in defense, by my side, watching, listening.
GOLD MINE
Dug through the piles at an antique mall I’ll be selfish enough not to name. Bins of old military surplus, animal skins, & lace; leather-bound books & Victorian jewelry boxes.
The gold mine, though, was the booth of a gemologist & paleontologist, now in his 90s, selling his collection. It felt like a portal to another world, another time. And in reality, I probably did lose track of time. He had labeled everything thoroughly: named it, defined what it was, cited where it was found, & detailed it’s history. Most of the objects I read about were millions of years old, & had been dug up somewhere in Illinois.
I left with a 200 million year old plant fossil concretion, from when the Midwest was covered in shallow, warm saltwater. Though it took a ball & chain not to leave with more.
turquoise earrings, gifted to me by my sweet darlin’ stepmom.