The mind’s place is a terrain of contradictions. Favorable breezes ruffle a lush rolling landscape that shimmers with dew and blueberries and the sheen of spider silk. Verdant and severe in turns.
Topographical layers of a country, both well-known and yet largely undiscovered. Glacial floes of ancestors scrub this interior landscape – linking me to others whether I want it or not.
Cleaved into lobs, woven through with veins and gleaming ores of dream-gold and icy gems.
Yet this same territory is subdivided by deep ravines as dark as the dilated pupils of hunters about to pounce.
Always, the familiar route diverges, unexpectedly opens onto an unknown trail, a hike into the wild, a side-trip of threat and vista, or irresistible allure.
Even as the avatar of this place, I will never completely know it. That mystery both ignites a passion to continue roaming here and a dread of coming through the alluvial sand to the very end of the world.
It is an act of will to carry paper and pen into the very maw of such a realm.
Writer Elkhound update: