New Shirts

For two years I walked in and out of mountains. Seeking high ground and distance from who I had become. Listening in silent forests to my own sounds.
Offering old shame to mountain gods. Deserting every weekend. Trying to cast off an old story.

For two years an ancient ritual of abandonment and return. Slow dancing with mountains. A healing dance. A dance as right and natural as the sound of beauty. A dance as effortless, uncontrollable and gradual as the movement of the sun. A dance where time and role and outcome are ordained.

Then suddenly in the lights of January and New Year came the call to stay
and walk on weekends in the godless streets of Ikebukuro, shopping for new shirts.