Shawl on the Shoulders of a God II

Shawl on the Shoulders of a God II

The morning: bitter, bitter cold. The wind: blowing so hard I could barley keep my feet. I had awoke that morning to the blazing sun burning red the clouds in all direction with such intensity that it was hard to forget that it was not I who was burning….

There are some mornings, some places and some times, that it becomes impossible to believe that we know anything about the earth, it becomes impossible to think that this place is something that we can understand or comprehend, that it is not wild and bound by no laws but is own iron will shaping and flushing out the endless twists and twirls of infinite possibility. This was one of those mornings. I have never been so close to believing that there are a thousand strange, mystical and unmapped realms waiting just beyond the touch of my fingers, to thinking I had accidentally slipped into one and would any moment start to come across the gods the ancient inhabitance of this land thought the volcanoes to be or begin to hear the whisper of the spirits who live in the pines. I was lost, lost, too everything I thought I knew, too who I myself had been, too the world that I had always lived in and had thought to be my home. I wish to all the gods I could become lost again.