There was a time when the greatest
joy came about from the stepping of soled-shoe onto
fresh uncharted territory, water squishing out of moist earth.
When so unburdened riding at speed down slick-grassed decline
forging paths through untreaded parts as an
afterthought, not a conscious effort to collect experiences as trophy kills.
I can recall the view of previously unknown to me
lake causing unexpected convulsions of something resembling great
remorse for fear that I could not grasp onto this moment for all remaining time.
Not in soul-steal attempt of light capture, but an actual holdable
tangible envelopment, the ability to, at whim, walk against the rushing cool
wind off the water, watch the ripples of bubble-expelling amphibians.
Now I fill the day-to-day with consumption and acquisition of
things and material wealth, feeding into the same revolving cycle of brick and metal
structures that pass on a continually looping playback of innocuous events.
Only to relish in the most minor of
deviance, to savor the minuscule hints of a less encumbered existence.