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A map of my head

Undermined Alder, Joyce Quadrangle, August 2010

I have a spot on the top of my head that’s preternaturally prone to injury. Always the same spot gets bumped, banged. Balding too of course.  Re-denting  is exquisitely painful- just today at work under a trailer I found the leaf spring bracket with my ‘g’ spot. For just an instant all the life drains and everything goes all rubbery and the cosmos is put on dramatic notice for explanation.  I wonder how much damage I’m doing, and must rely on tender honesties of wife and friends, and a shove  in the right direction if I get a little stuck.

So my lovely wife-   into my second weekend of filmholder work, atop of 12 straight weekends of my  uninspired begumblement–  but into her 14th week of tripping over cameras bags and tripods abandoned by the front door, finally asks:  So, are you using this stuff? And  I’m finally missing taking pictures. Whooey, that seems easy now.

And speaking of dark forests, the latest gash through the densest of silver fir and alder behind the house is an odd study of contrasts. There must have been a million yards of road base brought in and the forest darkens at it’s perimeter like oxidation at the edges of a cut, bruised and almost embarrassed at the sudden exposure, and the ease of the humiliation.. I never find this stuff in the daylight hours.