Saturday, February 9, 2013

Fishing the Gallatin

It's been nice to feel the dark, cold in my lungs and the pavement blurring beneath my shoes. The whole town was cast blue with a snowy dusk, the clouds hanging low over the Bridger Mountains and I could only hear the sound of my heartbeat and pattern of breathing. I've been running again, as a solution to restlessness.

Once, a friend told me to do little things instead of big things (such as moving furniture around my room instead of buying a one way plane ticket) to cure the need to move. That's stayed with me and though I am developing stronger plans for the spring, this is the longest I haven't gotten on a plane in two years. I have magazine subscriptions and a membership to the climbing gym and I'm actually living in the room I'm paying rent for. It's got ups and downs but if I must live anywhere right now, I think this will do just fine.

Today I went fishing with my friend and her father. They remind me of family, so it was nice to be in their company. We pulled up to the river in a big blue truck, and the water was moving quickly. I think the sole act of simply sitting next to moving water cures something in the soul. I was told that John Muir had his house built with the bedroom corner over the river so he could listen while he fell asleep. I thought of that today as I nested in my jacket into the bank and laid in the sun. I feel like it was time well spent--watching the casting of the line into the water.

At this point in my life I feel as if I can do most anything, or I could go most anywhere I'd like.

I think I'll remember days like today when I'm old and things slow down-the magic moments of golden sun and good company.

Sunday, February 3, 2013


I'm slowly gathering more momentum and learning how to love taking photos again; to use it as movement and translation. 
It's like re-learning how to see.