My hosting company disabled the comments function because of spammers.
I'll get around to sorting it out soon. In the meantime hold your tongues.
In other news, I ran my first marathon on Sunday.
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.
The dog wanted some of my homemade brown bread and cheddar cheese sandwich.
Le singe etait dans l'arbre.
A return to the mountains. For three days the gushing, roaring sound of the Kinugawa River.
