I dreamed of you and your footpath, dizzying greens even in winter, so many times that when, finally, I was in your not-so-secret realm I knew your persistent summoning succeeded. I brought visitors, often hungover, but sure enough of step to not plummet to the creek. Sam, a friend from my urban past, said you looked like a screen- saver. I never swam in your pool on a hot summer day and now that your parking lot is a crap shoot and thieves'-dream I wonder if I will. Did you feel me New Year's Day? We didn't make it very far, you protected yourself from the less serious of us with a slick carpet of snow. I wanted to share you again, now with my love, but maybe you were angry that I hadn't said hello since the advent of smartphones and I never remembered your name, or called you Wahkeena, your kin up the road. Theresa wants to get crampons to reach you this winter, we'll see if that happens, but please know that I miss you.
From: Vol.10 N.01 – Private: The Transformative Now
by Laurence Lillvik