After months spent in the city I rediscover the rejuvinating properties of stoking a fire and dangling ones feet in the Snoqualmie river. I needed a recharge more than I knew.
CONCRETE UNDERFOOT day after day in slacks surrounded by bricks and bistros.
Killing the engine the plume of dust I kicked up engulfs my car. The sun freezes each mote and gnat into relief, like a model of the galaxy unfolding. The river surrounds me with elemental sounds.
The weather was so damn good and I was so damn hasty I didn’t even bring a tent, but on the Middle fork of the Snoqualmie river valley the air wends like a chilly serpent along the round river stones so I start gathering firewood.
Oh Jesus, the pure, primordial joy of building a fire. Of stacking it high.
I like to get a huge heap of fire wood first thing, before I can relax and stack flat stones and drink beer and look up at the mountain flanks.
I grew up in the woods.
That should tell you something.
I like it here.
I feel safe and good.
I feel real.
Hunched over my computer, anonymous in city sidewalk migrations, I feel a little less than real. Often times it can feel like a dream.
Standing in the silence and sun I feel awake.
Coming home the next evening, after a day of hiking through ancient forests covered in moss, hiking past massive washout cataclysms, me and everything I carry reeks like a camp fire.
WHERE AND HOW DO YOU RECHARGE? ARE YOU DUE FOR A RECHARGE?