family
looking at a friend's images of waterfalls in oregon remind me of a certain determined innocence i still have. i remember, with all my senses, the shock of cold as i threw my body into icy spring water. there was only one way to go swimming in that mountain glacier water; if you try to dip yourself in gradually, your body will rebel and overcome any willpower you think you have. you have to surprise yourself totally, and get out as quickly as you jumped in. then your skin feels like it's been rubbed in mint leaves, pores alive and tingling, grateful for the relative warmth of air.
i was a child, bathing in mountain streams. it wasn't abuse; it was relief from the chill of society that left us dirty, the lack of public showers, the filthy gazes of onlookers. the stones did not pass judgment; the water would give us life or death, impartially. the trees were stentorian in their silence, patient guards. these things were my family.
i was a child, bathing in mountain streams. it wasn't abuse; it was relief from the chill of society that left us dirty, the lack of public showers, the filthy gazes of onlookers. the stones did not pass judgment; the water would give us life or death, impartially. the trees were stentorian in their silence, patient guards. these things were my family.