"An era has ended,
crest and fell."
"What will replace
it?”
“I can not see."
I think of this often.
This conversation, some where at some time, took place, began or ended with
these thoughts. At night, resting on the stump, the glassy waters running their
pursuit green in the moonlit. I contemplate the words. Feet dangle in
silence and swing out into the night, the unknown. The cold waters swift curve sweep and plunge edge to a misty
abyss. I hear a conversation between two curious and awe capable gods,
ruminating over my adopted home and wonder where and how I fit.
Wild things grow when the
moment will and everything rolls grand in tropical contempt or in spite of the
storied bleak and cold, all the nasty, brutish, and short that's legend, that’s
said to surround this our place.
Still I'm the only
outsider in memory to enter the Valleys. Eight years give or take, keep a loose
track of the phases and transitions in a journal, still holdin tight to it,
reference or some lingering tug can’t drop, can’t let go.
Legend's a whaling port in
the arctic rim, Halcyon, an ancient sea hub born a wayward Norseman. They say
overnight mountains struck from the earth without notice rose to unimaginable
and inescapable heights. Forever cut off the valleys, forever cut off the
winters, forever cut off the world for time that time forgot Halcyon and no
more never-thoughts never thought of Halcyon, now Halcyon Divide, again. And so
bore an eternal spring and those that are here are here and those who come here
new just become from and out of nothing as though they have always been here,
always existed here. I am the first and only to ever come to Halcyon Divide
from and through the sky scraping mountains.
What follows is my, our
story........

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