whiskey mornings

When I get overwhelmed and my head falls quiet, I find myself in dreams sleeping in a tent.

 I can smell the coldness of the night air lifting. 

Hear the sound the sleeping bag makes against salty bare skin. 

Almost taste the dust and the campfire.

Feel the warmth the shot of morning whiskey & a cup of camp coffee offer.

I am an unbeliever. 

But watching the moment when Night leans far over the desert 

and kisses the Day, I know at least one thing for sure. 

I know no matter how long or deep the darkness seems, the sun always rises. 

June 2009

The dawn breaks hard in the desert.  Heat and light are the same. The vast expanse of tundra roll across valley to valley.  Mountains exploded from the grasses and witch like junipers.  

Life is heavy here.  

I rub dust from my eyes, pull back my hair, and lace my running shoes.  Even as I watched her do the same I knew this will have to be the last run for me and her.  I simply cannot carry the weight of her any further.  

It is a bittersweet moment letting go.  Just as holding on to what was before... the release is slow and silent.  

I was there. My feet striking the desert floor. Sunlight filtering through the brush. The morning ripe with the smell of sage and the air littered with dust fairies.  

We were together, there running as sisters and when I came up over the horizon she was gone. 

I was running alone.  

The antelope stopped grazing to stare at me. And to stare at the nothingness that followed me as I ran by.  

I finally had the answer to their question “What do you think you are running from?”  

What I have always been running from. I am running from myself.      

Taming Venus, mlb