I’m beyond it now. The sky, changes, but not because of me.
I used to run away. Build campfires below the tracks beside the lake. Swish garbage. Throw the empties.
Watch coyotes get lost, eagles circle, nervous geese keeping freezing water open. Figuring the best place was below the bridge. Between the lake and river. Where there was plenty of wood to build a fire.
The whole of December and the rest of winter is ahead, beckoning, laughing.
It feels good, smart actually, to have the longjohns on early.