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Wednesday, February 13, 2019

a place without time :: essays papers

a tramp without time From the mountains, you can see it coming. season sits on the horizon standardized rain clouds, holding out. In the cities you carry it around in your pocket. Time is organized around where you have to be. You dash blindly around active corners, always racing against it. notwithstanding in the mountains, the world sits on the horizon, refusing to move. onward I ever went to the city, I used to know what that meant. Now I found myself trying to remember, waking up every morning to musical note at the mountains and see what they held. If there were clouds there, you knew there might be rain. But I knew there was something to wait for. I could watch time coming. I returned home because I was still longing for the clouds to roll over the view and the water to flow from the hills. It was if time was losing her memory, as the city had made me lag mine. My father used to say, when he would ask down at his feet, they look the same, but the groun d is different. I dont know if he was forgetting things too, or remember them all so well. My father carried it too, in his pocket, so he wouldnt forget. When population asked about it, he would bring it out and laugh. My sister and I need our father to hold together our memories, to hold together the world originally we were born. The world before our time. Where I lived, there were smashed bugs on the windshield, fractious coyotes, and, of course, trout. My dad remembered the river where he taught me about the sands of time, and how to fish. He said that in the days before me there had been fish the size of small children automatic to take what ever gift God, or my dad, had to offer. So when I came home, I brought my dad to that stream, looking for a cure. Anyone who lives long enough begins to be give by a search for time. You look for it everywhere because it is life. After a while, you can feel it in the ground beneath your feet, in the creeks in the back canyons, i n the clouds over the hills that may never come back.

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