Imbolc Black Mountain Moon
The world has receded. The old battles have become less clear. Keystone seems far away. So even the fracking arguments common here in western Colorado and in Weld County. The civil rights focus at Selma, Ferguson, even in Denver, distant. Not sure whether this is an inevitable part of transitioning to a new place, a loss of focus on what used to be, or an age related pulling back, letting the young warriors have their time. It’s as if a fog, not dense, but real has crept up Shadow Mountain, or, maybe it’s just the Shadow itself, the mountain’s long shadow, but the events occurring far below on the plains are less visible, perhaps even less real.
Minnesota now lies at an impossible remove, once again that cold place holder in the central northern U.S. The house in Andover is an abstraction, an asset, a factor on our balance sheet. Like owning a mutual fund.
Here’s what is visible: Kate. Ruth, Gabe, Jon, Jen, Barb. Vega, Rigel, Gertie, Kepler. The mountains and their geology, the plants native to Colorado. The West. A new novel, Ovid, Caesar, a thread now, a strong thread of wondering how all the information available could be organized. The house. Continued settling in. The grounds and a small potential garden, the bees next year. Near things, you could say, matters of the heart and matters of the immediate physical environment.
This feeling is new. But, permanent? Hard to know.
