the morning commute, of sorts

as i was driving to my photography class this morning (yes, i'm taking a 3-credit photo class in addition to the 21 class-hours i'm taking at TAC), i was reminded of my last week's drive. not knowing how long the drive would take, i left a half-hour earlier last week than today. it was fairly dark out then, and i followed the full moon as it shown thru the small space in the mountains, where the road lies. the moon rose slowly as i drove. drove, listening to pink floyd, then the indigo girls, eating fruit snacks (my favorite breakfast...hey, they're healthy!), trying to wake up, trying to stay on the road without touching the oh-so-cold steering wheel. as the sun thinks about rising, remnants of snow glint pink and yellow on mountains far above and beyond anywhere i'll be going in the next 3 months.

mountains, full moon, winding road...

my thoughts drifted to another time, oh, maybe 3 or 4 years ago. different place, different season, different life...yet still mine. i was in love then, and young. i was going to college (the first time), and my family was normal and hadn't yet moved to a 3rd world country. we were walking, walking, walking, my new friends and i. strangers two weeks ago, but now family. my life depended on them, and theirs on mine. it was dark...the kind of darkness most people have never seen and never will. the kind of darkness that you only find hundreds of miles from any artificial light.

we had picked the mold off of old bagels, spread them with cream cheese kept in the stream in place of a refrigerator, and ate heartily. umm...anything tastes good when you're burning upwards of 4000 calories a day. we were walking. hiking. all in a row, dressed in matching jeans, green hard hats, and blue collared shirts. blue-collar workers to the MAX, that summer. we were passing the big old tree that somehow was the lone survivor of last summer's raging fires; the big old tree that signified one mile. one mile down, five to go.

the trail was clear, mostly. last week we'd spent days digging boulders and roots out of this same trail, day after day of pick-axe and Pulaski swinging. now it was level, but a few stones and roots remainded to trip us as we followed each other thru the darkness. nothing to look at, no sound but the creek and our footsteps. then we rounded a bend and the full moon hung right in front of us, bathing us in weird light. we trudged on. mile two, mile four, mile six.

it was getting light when we reached our stash and picked our tools of choice, two each. the "lucky" four in front of the line got right to work, their pick-axes clinking and sparking brightly in the dawn. i glanced around quickly, taking in the moon, my crew, and the three humongous moose across the creek. i sighed with...content?...and started the rhythmic swinging of my hazel hoe. thus began my work day, and many others, long days of dirt and sweat and Thought. Thought that only comes with sweat and dirt. and the raw beauty of Nature.

There i wander; beauty above, beauty below, beauty all around me. -Navajo