heat thick. air thicker. sticky hot stillness

deep rich greens. deep dense muck

giant muskrat. roseate spoonbill. wild boar

wet winds ravaging regularly

floodwaters expected always

shore birds siphon marshes

alligators seen from highways

predation in daylight

slow but steady

wet and ready

living coastal strife

I see shooting stars fleeting like the happiest memories among the myriad, familiar. I cannot sleep without fresh air, no matter the temperature, central air feels strange. I know the moon like a last living grandparent, taken for granted, whispering memories. Outside the night is full of organic dim, rich dark, deep shadows, comfort. I tense, feel trapped in interior darknesses, false blackout, strange quiet. In the breathing night, living creatures never tire of noise making, simply repeating in the darkness: peep, chirp, croak, howl, hoot… sounds of lullaby. I fear domestication.

Who said “go for it”? Not I, nor anyone else. And yet I’ve gone. I’ve canceled plans and broken promises. I’m trying on my own. Not quite alone, but alone. The applications want all of my names and also my address. I don’t live anywhere right now. But I think I want to start. I chose this place for beautiful, sound reasons. I chose it to follow my heart.

There’s too much in my brain now that I can’t think about. You’re dancing in the desert like a dog finally let out. Walking in the woods I startled two absconded cows. A human pair will pledge next week—I’m sad to miss the vows. How’d you find a place to park that night? It made sense to keep on driving. I love to see your sleepy face, to hear my baby sighing. This adventure doesn’t suit most needs, but Texas might surprise ya. Most states have something worth a night. I know a spot in Nebraska. Roaming ain’t so special to the folks that do it often. I want to know I saw it all before we shop for coffins.

I fell out of a tree I’d climbed. Couldn’t breathe, it felt like hours. The one in your back yard fell down but missed the lines for power. There’s nowhere really needs me now though I hadn’t planned to cut ties. She said she did the whole thing right and we could find no lie. The elk bugle in the morning among various birdsong. The rodents are busy gathering. I hear the winter’s long.

come to me unwashed, having only bathed in your own scent. I want. your sour that sweetens all the filth we can make. come to me dirty, not showered for days. let the stink reach me before your lips. our first moments of blended sweat, combined heat come to mind. taken by the smell of you I cannot help remembering. wanting. come to me.

I did some research about bears in Rocky Mountain National Park. By most accounts there are not very many, and they’re all black. By most accounts they’re also all on the west side of Rocky Mountain National Park, which is where I’m camped. Black bears are probably the cutest bear in North America, as well as the one you’re most likely to encounter. In the US over the past 25 years, the number of people killed by black bears annually averages to <2. Black bears are known for their shyness, docility, and curiosity. Because they would be interested in my food, and I don’t have a bear box, I knew I would have to sleep with the car closed at night. Since it’s like 45F overnight at this altitude, that is no problem.

There were storms throughout the afternoon and evening, so I set up my tent to hang out inside the car for a while. I also made the risk-aware choice to eat a tuna sandwich dinner, thinking my bed time would be before a bear’s curiosity could be piqued, if at all. All I needed to do was close myself into my little home. I just didn’t close the car in time.

Around 9PM, after finally putting away the K-drama that had been a delightful distraction from period cramps and altitude yawns, I heard something. I listened closely to a movement of brush just beyond the clearing of the camp; I could hear that it was a swath much wider and lower than could be caused by anything with which I am familiar. I thought “bear” immediately and sniffed the air to confirm—I have heard you can smell those furry fatties before you see them. I didn’t scent this guy though, and wondered about it for a second before another sound came clearly to my ears: the snuffling of a snout. I was not surprised.

I started yelling from inside the tent even as I grabbed my headlamp and pointed it out. I chose a series of random shouts, including but not limited to: “You’re not welcome, go away!” and “I’m REALLY BIG!” and “I have bear spray, can we not?!” I considered putting on loud music but quickly realized I wouldn’t be able to discern the bear’s presence if I blocked my one reliable sense. Even with my headlamp on high brightness I could only make out the movement of the grasses about ten yards away. At one point, forgetting that my job was to scare this animal, my light found the right angle and caught a glimpse of reflective animal eye. It turned away quickly and I immediately recommenced my shouting.

Several years ago I was on a hike in Shenandoah National Park with two friends when we realized two bears were just ahead, not far from the trail. We were all pretty citified, and completely inept outdoors it turned out. (Later we would get so lost on a different hike that hitchhiking back to the car would become the most reasonable option.) I thought if we stayed the course we’d be okay, especially since other hikers up ahead were definitely just stoked to see bears. One friend pointed out that it was early spring and they’d be hungry, while the other observed that it looked like a mother and cub. This wasn’t a situation where we could backtrack, so the latter of these friends chose herself the largest fallen branch within eyesight and held it at the ready. All blond, my friend looked like a child playing at being a viking, using both hands to brandish the almost-log as she valiantly took her place in front. We moved slowly forward at the ready, and my other friend suddenly began sing-shouting, Rah rah rah-ah-ah, Gaga oo-la-la, Rum-ah, rum-ma-ma… I know that song too well not to join in, dancing a little and rubbernecking completely as we passed the bears. I will never forget how absolutely terrified they looked.

Tonight was different. Tonight, I had courted a bear’s curiosity, flagrantly consuming my unfamiliar and delicious foods. As the immediate stand-off continued, I was growing more aware of my predicament: in order to rest in any way, I needed to leave the car to get my tarp and tent put away. I had attempted to close the trunk from within, but alas. And I certainly wasn’t about to step out of my car with the bear still there, no matter how respectfully it stayed distant or adorably it snuffled. Even as I recalled Shenandoah and sang some “Bad Romance”, I wondered if I would be able to convince this animal to get gone. I continued shouting and insisting on my big-and-tough-ness, emphasizing the bear spray opportunity that awaited my visitor. I think that’s what did it—finally the bear wisely chose to avoid any discomfort this evening. After much hemming and hawing among the grasses, my unwelcome guest let out a massive and equally unforgettable huff that was truly impossible not to anthropomorphize. As the exhale ended, the moving brush started to grow distant. I listened intently, holding my entire body still until I was sure the bear had truly retreated. Still I continued noisemaking, somehow even more erratically than before. I leapt out of my car clutching the bear spray and disassembled the tarp and tent one-handed, throwing everything unceremoniously into the front seat before shutting myself in safely.

I’m a free bitch, baby.

In the morning I went into the brush to investigate. Almost immediately after stepping past the forest edge, I found shrubbery disturbed for several feet that looked a bit like someone heavy and less than three feet wide had paced in contemplation for a few minutes. I was unsurprised that there weren’t any visible tracks in the mess of flattened grass, but the earth had been heartily disturbed by rain. Piecing scratches and scuffs together, I can guess that the paws of this little guy were maybe a bit shorter than 4”. Maybe I should’ve fed the wee babe.*

*I kid. Never ever feed bears.

If my cheeks would hurt from laughing. If we fucked until we cried. If we called each other out but stayed on the same side. If I held your hand at dinner. If you took me to the show. If all these things aren’t lovin then I guess I’ll never know.

Two of my favorite books feature this forgotten former outlaw town: Dalva by Jim Harrison and Larry McMurtry’s Lonesome Dove. Both are wholly fictional, and the town is now a regular degular middle America place. Happily, Ogallala still boasts Boot Hill Cemetery. There one can find local indigenous Pawnee and Cheyenne interred, right among the infants, actual outlaws, and gun shot victims of the nineteenth century. This is also Arapaho land, although it is most famous for being a cattle drive stop in those wild days.

I am in love with nature’s fecundity. I am first a child of Earth whose feet found solace in damp, soft soil. Petrichor is a word as useless as snow, but everything it describes is my favorite fragrance. Moisture in the air soothes my skin, bounces my curls. Softens sharp edges. No single color pleases me more than the exuberant green of a wet new bud. Fecundity is fresh, fertile, pulsing. It is moist, ready. For growth. I want my environment so teeming with life it’s unnerving.

I drove through the town of Jordan then I texted my best friend. I drove through the town of Lindsay and I called my crush again. I wondered when you’d been a poet, if you’d written of our time. I didn’t know Montana was so big, I didn’t know that I’d been lyin’. If North Dakota gets a bad rap it’s cuz nobody stands still. Understatement is a glory in this world so often shrill. I wondered how they told that fable, but they said I’d never know. All hung up, I got waylayed and couldn’t make the coast. If standing still is possible I’d like to try it some. If you’re ready to sit near me I can promise not to run.