Old Places

Places you feel good in. I’m a guy who doesn’t own anything. There is nothing I can call my own. The sky can be out or not. Up there the creek is always clear. Long ago I said to my father, ‘this is my creek’. He knew I didn’t mean it belonged to me, but I felt peace there. There were places he felt the same.

Lisa and I, along with Willow, spent the night up at the top of the creek, we went high where the water runs out at this time of year. We starred skyward and felt the spirits fly through our chests. Lisa counted the piles of bear shit, noted if they were fresh, she carried bear spray and a knife with a quick release. She pointed out cedar boughs in the darkness and asked if I could cut her a few.

A mountain Martin stood stiff, eyes glowing, curious at our intrusion. A large bull elk climbed a rock slide to stay clear of us. There is still enough of my self to quicken my heart and want to go after him. When young it is simple to kill. A pellet to a birds breast. Killing is easy, now older, I even have trouble pulling the trigger on plants in fall. My edge now is not killing.

This place can punch your heart and make you cry.

7 thoughts on “Old Places”

    1. underswansea's avatar

      underswansea

      A Martin is like a weasel. Their fur is prized by trappers and people who wear fur. I don’t see them very often but when I do they seem curious.

      The moon looks big because I took it with a 200mm lens. The ridge with the trees is a long distance away. The moon took up a small part of the frame and I cropped it close. I was surprised it had as much detail as it does.

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      1. mountaincoward's avatar

        mountaincoward

        Well it’s an amazing photo – probably the best I’ve ever seen! Very clever…

        So a martin is like what we’d call a ‘Pine Marten’ then? or a polecat. I’ve never actually seen one although they’re supposed to be quite common, especially in Scotland.

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