SomeTimes

Today I went tubing in a freezing lake on the top of a flat mountain but forgot my tube.  I rolled a log into the lake and floated around on it until I lost feeling in my fingers and got splinters in my thighs. I wonder if I would write about it if I remembered my tube, and floated around in it. Floating on a lake is only exciting if you are interested in listening to the jumping of fish, the singing of birds, and the lap of water against the shore, I am. It's beautiful.

Yesterday my Mom, Sister, and I picked peaches off the ground in a perfect, green, and breezy orchard. I slurped them until I was sick, and thought over and over again that God loves me and peaches are proof.

Tomorrow I'm moving to Durango. I'm going to drive over three mountains to get there, over precarious highways. I will see gold and black sheets of granite, and in my minds eye, the cold February night, 3 years ago, where I almost slipped off the edge in the back of a Greyhound bus. They discontinued the route after that.

Monday I start school. I'm going to have to adjust into a chair-sitting, shoe-wearing, talking-to-people, note-taking, job-getting, life. I've been running wild this summer, hiking, swimming, wandering through the forest, building, learning, tasting. I noticed today, while packing, that there are many things I didn't unpack from my last move in the spring.

It's overwhelming sometimes, the compilation of moments into a life. And smashing them into this odd frame, time, that does not account for the length of time it takes to wait for a ripe peach, or the space between drops of water, or the speed at which September comes when summer has just begun.