“First day above freezing when the snow is gone from the forest paths, I am putting a saddle on my horse and going for a long ride to nowhere. It’s always the best place, and every time I go nowhere I always find myself there. Waiting. And my Self says to myself: “Where have you been?” And I say, “I was somewhere, but it was nowhere. Now I’m nowhere and it is somewhere.” And my Self replies to myself: “This is where the magic is.” But both my selves already knew that.
First day the ice is gone from the Whispering Lake, I am going to portage my canoe down to its quiet edge and glide out over the glassy waters, clear like crystal to the very bottom. I am going to quietly dip the oar into those calm waters and ne’er raise a splash and trek the lotuses and lilies, float like a log at the cove and sing with the peepers at dawn, drift beyond the peninsula and in lucent noon sunshine watch the pitcher plants feast on unwary insects with their unearthly blossoms. I am going to harvest a feast of plantain, dock and cattail and grill it with venison where I camp on the westerly shore. And I’ll bet there, among the lake’s many whispers, in the company of brother moose and sister bear, I’ll find my Self again, in the nowhere that is the only where that matters.”
All That Is In the Nowhere
“The Wildwood Way”
Anticipated publication date: 2015