A longer time ago trails split into tongues and diverse journeys

Una lechuza volaba en la noche negra. El aire iba fresca y fria en sus plumas. Se movia empujado por las ramas del bosque. Cuando encontraba la luz de la luna llena, huyo de los nubes y planeaba sobre un campo. Veo un raton con sus ojos vivos, y se abalanzo sobre el raton con veloz como un rayo. La neblina escondia la escena brutal. La lechuza pensaba que el raton estuve una cena deliciosa para sus crias. Una idea paso por su mente. Se preguntaba porque no tenia la idea mas temprano. Cuando ella tendria ratines pequenos en sus vistas en el futuro, dejara la responsibilidad de atraparlos a los ninos.

longer walks stop in trailheads

Some of the most important travels I've taken on foot have been about the initiative of someone who I wanted to meet up ahead at some destination unknowable in the present. There are stops along the way I never took because the goal at the end was so bright that there were gleams of joy and accomplishment blinding my vision of peripheral presents. Inner paths to knowing another person have to take some of their own bushwhacking attempts if you haven't the strength to lift a log in the way to some outer trail that was blocked by a tornado a few years earlier. Intense defense of knowing another person because of something you once saw them do or say can give you a vision of a better path to a relationship that has lasting value in the treads and tracks left by previous movers along the development of grasses to weeds to flowers to bushes to trees to forests. There is a lot of distance from those memories of visions of charging ahead into something you had once decided was incredibly more important than taking the word of another on the page about marching through the woods as the value holder in how you understood the idea of being a leader of your own path. Previous leaving of your body for you mind in the middle of the sky can make you imagine you the hardest trails you took were incredibly easy and welcome to be challenging in their repetition leading to new ability to provide a steeper incline. Young enjoyment of the gravelly pits of challenge and sweat give way to the standing walls and wiry fences that might let you use someone else tools to imagine a way around them, but never under them. The newest parts of your feet peeling away at the thought of blistering again in the toils of energizing the muscles of your legs you enjoying feeling tense at the thought of resting and feeling water course through once again. Measured course and wide berths.

learning hard ways

A lot of days composing messages never sent to people you've seen but not heard in their own voice often enough in your head to give you reason to energize the day with something interesting in their way of expressing themselves. Tireless movements and a lack of longer waiting for the moments you should stop to think of the real people you remember behind those words in your head you thought they might say but never heard the tones or the letter face echoing in your body cavities. There are better words to the narrative almost every time you thought them through but the silences don't mean as much as they should when there is less movement of the air to feel the world in vibrations of resonation with something else important beyond the contemplative parts of everyone

swinging glass

The views I imagined are never as important as the views I have to take with me for another day. If I lose the connection to someone's view I remember admiring I would have timed the days away from those moments with a surer plan than never. All those moments you take the eyes you cherish as their own ways of reflecting who you are the hours away from yourself seem much less important. I won't get through to my own need for expression by imagining that moment again, and I won't be able to stand next to someone I love with a different state of mind chosen by their reaction to me until I have given it less thought than the imports of my words upon the emotional contingency of every syllable. The confined words of a lost dream for acting like the ways of life will change me into the person I think can find a love important takes more time to give up the past than does the level headed energies of the moment. The reasoned mind takes too long to make up its choice in the long distance race of the soul to its bliss. The moment that emotionless stockade of a lost day drives your own motivation to the edge there are more parts lost than gained by the adding of your accomplishments to your ego. Sensible and tame, personal and easy, living and breathing for the average moments forgotten in the reduction of your ideas to turning wheels given flight by the revolving doors left to fall through like you can't see your own reflection anymore. The relation you have appraised by someone losing patience with the stymied interest in living outside of where you are and the level of the circles of swinging glass that give a pattern to the way that wheel connects your life to another, without another option you look like a square leaving traces of your corners in the crevices you found and didn't have a way out of. There in those long lost seconds of your life there is too much of yourself to handle and not enough of the realities you desired long ago, in the eons of light shining through your heart and gleaming in the eyes of those you have seen but not heard, those you have listened to but forgotten, those who were there but can no longer be seen, there is where you reside today, but tomorrow can always give you another reason to smile for no real reason at all, or laugh for the best reason you can ever remember.

free yourself from mental slavery

I have written in many different forms and I have thought through the very precise wordings of what I want to say in the most rigid and formal appearing contexts. I recall the days my hand was steady and wrote with the forms rote from practice and desire to perform. The longest passages of words given flight in flurries I would have given more time if I hadn't wanted to know where my mouth should open next and the breath of life's communication give the louder import of my souls desires. I have less skill in finding where the finest penmanship is in my capacity to etch a streak of color or exposition or verse across some place set for the wordings of someone else at some other time. This desire is no longer as urgent as other days in my life, and it has never been as strong as that desire to express and to know without the eyes or the ear or the mouth. There are those mental capacities diminished, and there are those I never sought to have, but I know that I can remember something lost better than something I never had. The conversations overheard in my head where I lost connection to something there to grab, I won't desire their return to prominence, I won't give in to being simply glad, I live with time to make a decision, but I have other lives I would have had, so every little time I remember one I think of them for there are better days to know where others were sad. I don't like this feeling and I never said I have.

love and communication

There are more people than I can account for and that has never been my desire. I've imagined the emotions of someone who has wanted to express their interests in ways that open the door to my heart. I'll say something to the other like I knew that I was not enough, though the confidences given to a personal ego are not enough to give up doubt. You is a good word to say when your thoughts are turned to what was the best time to know someone like yourself. I'll be there in ways that recall broader oppositions to not staying in the place I was brought (sullenly dropped?) It is better to change the stated distance from your idea of self to what is wrought. Repeated wording in what you were expecting to say isn't needed to be able to remind your own future of what you thought. I gave myself to a you that was lost in someone else's minding of the times they felt how easy it was to stop their own actions from being distraught. Those feelings are those I have wanted to know from others but I have wanted to enjoy making others feel well.

short creations

The written word leaps off the page differently than my eyes have seen the light shine through them. If I imagine the jump from type to electron I listen to the contemplation of processes I imagined once in the night I knew to be long and dark for my own knowledge, the desire to complete connection. I think in the times in between, I act on more words than I ever thought I wouldn't know. The din of my feelings in reverse was overwhelming once I felt I had burst. The long moments of inaction were of a long trail I knew, variable animosity can be worse.