sicpowered

we tramped about in the chill driving rain today, mountains curtained in mists and cloud cover folded around us. Steep sided valleys of lush botanica and a single track of dirt road to be devoured under the carriage of our vehicle. Cold, wet, running down the path and slipping in the saturated mud, I watched the tall sheer faces of granite darken with wet, the blue sky lost somewhere behind a barrier of obtuse grey. A flowing river of water opaque with a sense of such cold, I often think it flows slower than warmer water, but no less strong. And people ask me why I wish to come here, so far away from anything. How do i tell them what it's like to be in valley so quietly anticipating a storm that my own breath is loud in my head? What does it mean to feel a shiver as the rain dives into the face, down the neck, through to the skin, and how can i make them understand? Maybe there are reasons they are down there, and i am not.

My back, hips, legs ache slightly from the cold, my bed is a simple affair between sleeping bag , floor and futon, and sleep will visit lightly and frequently, if not fully, tonight. I'm full of life, lust and the strange quiet beauty of some strange feeling i've not had in some time, a touch of peace.