The wolves were howling again a few mornings ago, and this morning I heard owls for the first time since I've been back. This evening I feel a little bit like their sounds, mysterious and longing, haunted, calling out to the night and waiting for a mate's reply. A few elk were back by the hotel today, the first I've seen since the stormy weather of a week ago.
The paycheck I received a couple days ago listed the first insurance deductions I've seen in about ten years--it seems strange for it to happen in such a seemingly transitory position, and to hope that this steady transitoriness becomes my final home. I saw someone today who mentioned being glad I had liked (previously expressed) the cranberry nut bread she'd given me and I told her to save the recipe for next year because I'd be looking forward to it again. Alone, growing into community. Anticipating next week's opportunity to explain and express, to begin anew, one way or another. Opening to the winter, needing snow. Opening to the other, needing a hand in return. Winter here is a very different experience from summer and one which suits me better, except for the limited hiking.
A couple of the large trees here in Mammoth were decorated for Christmas--tonight for the first time their lights are off. I noticed this while walking back from a concert by a quartet from the Bozeman symphony--nothing from my favorite classical composers so the highlights for me were Dave Brubeck's Take Five, and Yesterday and Hey Jude from the Beatles. Culture in a village in a wilderness.
Today I hiked part of the Beaver Ponds Trail and hope to do the rest on Monday.
Most of the trail I traveled was obvious and well-packed, some sections traversing steep hillsides a little icier than I would have preferred.
Bunsen Peak with cloud.
Where the heart longs to be.
Thursday Poem - Bio
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