Tonight, this music makes me quiver. Most people look back at the times when they were sixteen and seventeen and music shook them and their souls with life and longing for better places in the place they were in then. I can’t remember many of those from the past year. All the moments I think should’ve been accompanied by better music turned out to be the apex of the romances of my short travels across the country. So now I remember when I was twelve and thirteen and so emotionally frustrated, everything made my heart tense up with life and longing and love and made me believe that love was just around the corner.

Things we learn learn learn along the way way way. Love is not on any corner, love is strange and makes us weary but drags us through the sand and the lakes across to the forest across the shore and into that crevice in the centre of that small mountain we used to climb up and through and down and around, finding deer and goats along the way. We couldn’t figure out if we wanted to stay because everything was so rough and dark and jagged and cold but it was too much fun. On the ledge between the walls, you used to put your arm across my waist because you were afraid I would fall between the cracks to where we didn’t know it all went. You would stand over the rocks and ferry me to the other side and I hated that, so I would refuse your help and move my small body across the rocks, stretching my legs from peak to peak, scratching my thighs so hard they’d bleed. I’d done it all before and it wasn’t the prettiest means to traverse a risky way with all the gore but I did it without you. All that hiking barefoot in our swimsuits. I remember when we took a basket all the way up to picnic on the edge of the abyss. There were no jukeboxes or boomboxes up there but we made our own song, pretending we could waltz flawlessly. We would hum and sing about the things we had tried but hadn’t experienced. When you hummed, shivers went down down my spine. Maybe I was cold from my suit being wet but existence was warm in the sun. Napping on the moss, waking to venture down tiredly, collecting bruises along the way. Wading to the boat slowly to go back to the other side of the island that had separated us from our twobyfourcottage, stopping in the middle of the lake to row the boat and give the otters peace. And when we got back we went upstairs and put on our warm ugly sweaters and listened to the songs we compiled as they were thought best for this western Ontarian home where everything had burnt down years ago and slept in the loft until dinner.

Postcard from 1952
Explosions in the Sky
(take care, take care, take care)

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