Somewhere

The pounding of Skechers against crumbling pavement mirrored the ache in my head. One breathe in, two out or something like that. I lost count when the beats of Kelly Clarkson guided my troubled mind from byzantine concepts like counting. Just as the elongated weeds and sprawls of goat heads monopolized the road, I too, snaked my way around corner after corner.

Somewhere along the path I freed myself of something.

I became whole again. With the air, the planet . . . all of creation. My lungs struggled to keep up with thoughts of freedom and I pressed myself harder. Fingers were clenched in a tight ball as I streaked across a hill. I felt it now, felt it all over.

Acceptance. That fear itself was leaking from myself.

Sweat beaded against my forehead and I fought a burning sensation in my eyes. I blamed it on sweat, but totally knew better. I looked back, partially to check for traffic but to see if my past would catch up. Of course, it wouldn't. How strange the anthropomorphism our hearts construct in a desire to find a darkness.

I knew I could continue on.

The shadows grew in strength as did I. From within, I found the energy to put on a burst of speed. As I did, the shadows released me and sunlight blasted my face. For the first time in a very long time, I felt powerful. Not in an egotistical way, mind you, in a way that only perseverance and sheer force of will can conjure. I felt like me.

I rather like that feeling.

One last look behind my shoulders and I eyed the hill. We'd meet again and for all the high I feel today, at this moment, it will come back another day. Another time. I don't mean from the run. This is coming from within. It's all allegorical anyway. That hill could be anywhere. That burning sensation can stem from anything. Those sweaty tears can be caused by so many things. I just hope the next time I feel such unity with all of eternity that I can savor it again.

Somewhere along the way, we have paths to navigate, shadows to cross and sun to feel.

And Then

Slivers of moonlight skate across my face. A coyote howls in the distance, its echo carried by the lazy breeze of midnight's presence. I counted two lights in the distance, now only one remains. My fingers brush up my arms: goosebumps. May giving birth to June leaves cool nights in the place of warmer days.

The subdued hue of night always brought a smile to your face. We'd streak across the field and camp at the pond. Starlight reflecting off our eyes. Our feet wet from dew and irrigation water. Mosquitos would swarm us but we didn't care. We heard more animals then; more signs of life.

Your arms were hot from being on a tractor all day. Your skin, sticky from sweat mixed with dirt. It's never the big important things one remembers. Weddings, parties . . . none of that. It's the making you a ham sandwich with tomatoes and having my cheek kissed in gratitude. It's watching the field change from green to yellow bales of hay.

It's the ache of a coyote's howl.

The things lost in a lifetime are immeasurable. The memories forged innumerable. Each day happens with such tremendous velocity its down to autonomous programming to simply keep our bodies alive and hearts beating. I remember putting my hand on your chest. Thump. Thump. Thump.    It reminded me of the thump of a hay baler. You'd turn and listen ever so carefully for that one knock that didn't sound just right. Only you'd know. That one erroneous thump.

Then, it was all about moving out . . . reaching for the heavens and sky above. Staying alive and keeping with the rhythm of humanity. I had started a new job and you were still in the field. We were the forces of unity in our home. I still made sandwiches.

I stare in the distance. Stars began to swirl in the sky as the egotistical moonlight waned. Colorful mountains became dark and imposing as trees crested the ridges like jagged teeth ready to devour the universe. I swirled the pond's water that night we camped, our reflections distorting outward. The drift apart then was comical and expected.

I feel so small here. No lights to guide me. Even the stars are cruel and emotionless. I heard another howl and looked out one last time. No more lights. I grew quiet, stilled my breath and recalled one final moment before this night owl found its perch. A night not dissimilar to the pond. A night where feet were wet and my hands were all over you but not because they wanted to be. Your skin was rubbery and I ached for starlight in your eyes.

I remember putting my hand on your chest.