Short September Walk

Sometimes you really notice things as you walk along the dusty road of this canyon.Yesterday it was clusters of tiny green acorns on the low branches of the oak trees, the surprisingly wide berth of a pregnant cow, and in the blank blue sky a white airplane, its propeller buzzing in the distance. If it is three o’clock and sunny, the glare of the world may not be to your liking,and you will pause to wipe away the smudge on your sunglasses and lower the brim of your hat, remembering rain and yearning for green. The chronic wind of afternoon will start to pick up, and you know it won't be pleasant when you turn and walk against it. At the junction to the main road, you will reflexively open the mailbox and peer inside, but of course it will be empty and you’ll smile at how hope always trumps experience.

If there is a snakeskin snagged in the brush by the side of the road, you will stoop down for a closer look: you will see that it is dry and light, a translucent hybrid of plastic and parchment, a custom encasement abandoned by its inhabitant. You will ponder the meticulous design of its ridges and scales and may even perceive it as beautiful, for you are learning to appreciate such things, their inviolable integrity and otherness. And then, reverting to the dysfunctional home base that is your own ego, you will wistfully think about shedding and change, the many shells that have contained you, the selves that you have been, what you may yet become, and what remains.