a last push into the Pasayten without skis

I paced my giant medicine in flesh form: Moose. she rose to the minor pass where snow clouds converged, releasing their tired load over this burned-out drainage. and I stopped there, just the two of us in a howling expanse.

there is beauty in the downed logs painting my bare shins black. there is beauty where no green stands in fire's path, where even the aspens have gone to sleep in their naked form.

I worked amiably with bright feet and an open heart, free of observation. my wise self spoke again and again, writing ephemeral running poetry for only me and the freezing multitudes to enjoy.

after crossing the thirtieth downed log that caused me to break running gait to climb over or under, I called it the halfway point and milled about a bit. tracing lines in the white granite mud with the toe of my neon shoe, I noticed sign that Moose was here. steady release in the lonely landscape taking heart in the synchronicity of meeting my medicine on the trail and my drive to complete this unrewarding work made sense.

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