-- I am afraid of the light --

We set out from home early in the year.
Where inland frost still lay on the remaining leaves and forming buds of the foothills.
Low among the boles we walked the path set forth by the bodies above us.
Slick-oil mud from the years melting gripping onto our feet like the hands of death.
Our road was a slow road.

We have learned in our travels.
Sometimes you have steady yourself.
Using your hands works best.
At the time of our departure we didn’t even see the shoreline we were rippling towards,
Ever increasing in speed.
Down the hills into the low country.
Brush and sage.

Heat.
Heat makes me tired.
Makes me forget, makes me not feel alive.

Slickskin dizzies whirl me about stumbling sometimes.
It’s hard to find our way when we are always scanning the ground in front of our feet.
Assuring ourselves that the path remains.
Light and dusty and alone we walked and walked and walked.

The smell of salt was not yet detectable on the air.
We were still a we and not an everything.
Still walking a path with no one to tread on us.