Long Gone

Between sets, she asked us to come back to the hotel suite. Older people were taking pictures with her and offering snacks and drinks. We sat on the bed doing Fireball shots while the band mates talked about which songs to do for the last set. We were cool for a few minutes. Returning to the tented venue, people pushed in hard towards the stage as the band started up again. Even though it was a crisp evening, heat from all those bodies made it sweaty the entire time. Everyone stuck to each other. The band played cover songs across all genres. An eighty year old man in a plaid shirt and high-waisted khakis danced along side millennials with blue hair and screamy voices. My feet stuck to the floor because of the spilled drinks, but everything else was slippery: bodies, lyrics, boundaries. Yet a holiness was there – next to the lake, under a creamy moon, with my friends. This is the sort of night that opens me. From time to time I would snap back to a remembrance of my life but mostly I was long gone.

Today, dull woodpecker taps alternate with the high pitched chirps of nearby cardinals. My ears still ring from the night before and so goes my gratitude for all things unplugged. I take the dog into fields and meadows for a long hike. Goldenrod, chicory, Queen Anne's lace. Monarchs dazzle the stillness and lead us into diversion. The dog bounds ahead, crashing through willowy growth, making a trail. Every so often she would turn back. She seemed happy in this kind of freedom. Am I?

On the drive home last night, the moon hovered in front of us most of the way. It was more full than a sickle but definitely less than half. It hung low like some kind of nibbled cantaloupe ready to roll off the counter. It glowed brighter on its edges so that it looked like it might be on fire. September nights build that blaze in me.

With all of this holiness, I still fail to become lost entirely. There is still a simple picnic of apple slices and salami in the woods or maybe near the river or into the meadow. She lies back onto the blanket, asking a million questions and listening to answers. She gets too close and cannot really pull away. For now, concerts and moons and woodsmoke at dawn.

overtaken by chicory –
this is the trail
I am taking