Yesterday I went for a run in the desert and made a new friend. No, this is not the little old man I was telling you about..though the resemblance is uncanny.
It would have been a match made in heaven, had the attraction not been so one-sided. Indeed, if you are holding someone in your hands while he scuffles and tries to prong you with his horns, it's a good sign he's not that into you.
I may have a vivid imagination, dear reader, but I'm not in total denial.
I tried to be mysterious and unfathomable, I exhausted all my charms, but in the end it was not to be. Nothing could persuade him otherwise, not even my promise to read him the works of Thoreau at night.
He could have made me happy beyond my wildest dreams, if only I didn't have to physically restrain him from leaving.
So I let him go.
Where do you go to find your wilderness, dear reader?
I often think, practically the last reason I go out to the desert to go for a run is to go for a run.
I am there to see things, to find things, to catch things, to observe. I am there to experience the seasons of the year, the nuances of the day, to witness the circle of life, to be out in the middle of nowhere.
I am there to examine the head of a frog, to wonder at its ignominious death.
I am there to drop a leaf on this web and run like crazy when I see what shoots out of that hole.
I am there to remember, to forget, to marvel, to ache, to fly, to escape, to time travel, to pass through a wardrobe door.
I have all the rest of the day to be civilized. All the rest of the day to drive carpool, exchange pleasantries, sign permission slips, make dinner, scrub toilets, oversee homework, and smell good.
And the only way that works for me, the only way I'm willing to be civilized, is if I can find such moments to be uncivilized, as well.