Sometimes I don't dream about the baby. Last night, I walked miles and miles...always walking.
There are these old, old mountains in southwest Oklahoma, mountains so old they've been scaled down by time and almost aren't even mountains anymore, mountains where I'd camp in college. Nights, we'd channel dead poets and eat Frito's; mornings, we'd wake up to buffalo outside the tent. I haven't seen those mountains in over a decade, and they were always so fragile--earth breaking up under my hiking boots, memory slipping away on the drive back to school--that I sometimes find myself wondering if they're even still there.
That was all that was in the dream: just a long walk through those archaic mountains, and then the room grew a bit cold, and the baby kicked, and, finally, I got up to close the window and make us warm.
1 comment:
Ah, those Oklahoma mountains.
I remember camping in college with caroline. She wore her cowboy boots and had to walk uphill to get to our camp site. poor gal. the blisters!
I think I fell and got cactus needles in my palm.
ah, the joys.
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