----------------------------------------- Saturday October 4, 2003 - Death In Chile Walking through fallen chestnuts we receive the news. Less than 24 hours later we are on a plane to Chile. The night before the funeral, in a living room with 13 people, the most prominent sound - the ticking of the clock on the mantlepiece. The next day, in the cemetery, the chestnut blossoms. At a restaurant after the funeral - fingering stitches in the menu's leather binding. ---------------------------------------- Monday October 13, 2003 - Craig Crowther Arrive Salt Lake mid-morning - learn of more death. Death, the presence of an absence. His not being here staring me right in the face. The hikes we planned, the music we played, the lines we wrote laughing while hiking: tahightahike (too high to hike) beyond the copper mine the sun that never came loaded but gone ------------------------------------ Wednesday October 15, 2003 - 6AM dog barking in the distance sound of occasional cars passing by mind drifting in a channel of memories thinking of nothing nerves randomly firing wondering where I will walk without him -------------------------------------------- Wednesday October 15, 2003 - almost midnight If he were to see me now he'd probably laugh and say I'm blowing a whole week sitting around crying when I could be out hiking. ----------------------------------------------------- Thursday October 16, 2003 - grieving in North Canyon Life standing still but my heart beating, chest breathing, thoughts thinking. Lots of leaves on the ground and a few still waiting in the branches. I suppose the falling leaves are telling me dying is beautiful. Or that life is short, remembering long. This morning my gear was all packed and ready to go - still together from the last hike Craig and I didn't do. Walking up the trail, breathing deeper, starting to sweat, removing layers. It's the dying season making the trail soft with leaves. In a way I hope heaven or hell or some imaginary beyond is true so I can hike with him again. But I'm not counting on it. I'm not expecting an angel to save me. We were going to stand in streams in hip waders when we couldn't walk anymore. I've discovered something: it's very hard to cry and hike UP a trail at the same time. On top, the mule's ears dried, curled and rustling in the slight breeze. The mountain mahogany blossomed long ago, the shrub oak leaves still green. As always, the lake and the islands steady on the horizon. Quiet now, here alone on the ridge, looking out, over, into our place. For the moment, calm in the mountains where we like to be. I'm writing them down so my thoughts won't sting - wasp weaving in the wind. Quiet now, lucky he was here - gone but not forgotten. Someday me too - we too. Always wanting and willing to see what was around the next bend. Now that he's nothing, there's nothing that separates us now. Not that I worry about danger, but something about being outdoors with Craig made you feel safe. Each day outdoors built a bridge between us. A link Take up the slack - take up the slack. I've discovered something else - it's dangerous going downhill and crying. I feel like calling him up and saying, "do you know what it felt like to learn you were dead!" Far worse than you hiding ahead on the trail then jumping out - stopping my heart. There's a lot of lyrics we won't hear quite the same way anymore. It feels like a mistake - like I heard something wrong. You know, it really is a fine fall day, hiking east of the island. He didn't pass away - HE DIED. He wouldn't dress it up. He'd say, "I'm dead" with a chuckle and glint in his eye. Later, at Adam's Canyon Falls, the stream going over the edge, separating into thousands of distinct drops, then merging back into the clear cold pool. ----------------------------------------------- Saturday October 18, 2003 - another day alone We remember his voice but let's not forget his never-wavering rock-solid rhythm guitar. Drifting. Walking. Everywhere I go he's not there Drifting. "Got your slinglite?" Drifting. "Got your leatherman?" There may be no reason, but there is a rhythm in grief. Keep walking. There are no paragraphs - just fragments and sentences floating by. Something is missing. Someday the dust will settle. No past, no future, just an infinitely empty now. heal - whole - holy gracious - grateful - grace --- o