Nothing to see here, just building a habbit of writing.
The sun was setting. My arms were flailing. It was just me and the mosquitoes and someone far away shooting a gun, over and over. Practicing for hunting season I suppose. Or maybe just blowing off some steam. I thought maybe I could run, after all, the whole reason I was out here with all these bugs was to try and lose some weight. I took off in a sprint and "boooom!" I know the shot was in the distance, the same as all the others. It wasn't anywhere near me, but still, walking and flailing seemed like enough after that.
I hadn't been on this path since I was young. That was back when my family had time to just go out and walk together. We would walk this path in the sunshine. My anxiety high, just in case we met anyone on the path. 10 years ago if there was any sign that someone else might be near this path my heart would be racing and I would be aching to be back home, safely tucked away from other people. I wouldn't have even gotten out of my car if I thought I might run into another. Would have just turned around and drove home. I don't know how I ever lived with all that anxiety. Anxiety over what? I never figured that out. I guess some people are just born high strung.
The path seems so much shorter than it did then. I walked to the mud and back in just 30 minutes, not feeling up to hopping through the mud and continuing on with wet toes. Wouldn't we walk all day? Talking about the world. Acting out silly stories as we raced passed the prairie, hopped over the mud and hid in the trees. I remember how terrified I used to be about the leaches and tics. Expecting at any moment to die from their little diseases. No kidding. I thought for sure I would be gone by 20, if not from food poisoning then surely from cancer. Well, here I am, 32, alone out here on this path and flailing away the mosquitoes, only mildly worried about malaria.
I get back to my car sitting at the far side of the dirt circle turn around. Didn't there used to be a field here? I know because my Dad had us searching through the tall grass for the foundation of a long gone house. We'd trace out the living room, where we thought the bedrooms should be. My brother found the barn. My sister the haunted gravestones. Really, it was just a pile of rocks someone stacked in a philosophical fashion. My stomach would twist thinking about how desperate it must feel to be long forgotten, the only evidence of your life being a few dug out cement corners of a house sought out for shelter. I never showed it. My mom was antsy, waiting in the car. There are no bathrooms out here and her bladder said it was ready to go! I pretended that was why I herded everyone back to the car. Not the nagging sense of uselessness engulfing what started out as a sunshine happy day. The trees have all grown large since then. Those cement corners are now buried deep. My bladder is begging me to go home, so I do.
I hadn't been on this path since I was young. That was back when my family had time to just go out and walk together. We would walk this path in the sunshine. My anxiety high, just in case we met anyone on the path. 10 years ago if there was any sign that someone else might be near this path my heart would be racing and I would be aching to be back home, safely tucked away from other people. I wouldn't have even gotten out of my car if I thought I might run into another. Would have just turned around and drove home. I don't know how I ever lived with all that anxiety. Anxiety over what? I never figured that out. I guess some people are just born high strung.
The path seems so much shorter than it did then. I walked to the mud and back in just 30 minutes, not feeling up to hopping through the mud and continuing on with wet toes. Wouldn't we walk all day? Talking about the world. Acting out silly stories as we raced passed the prairie, hopped over the mud and hid in the trees. I remember how terrified I used to be about the leaches and tics. Expecting at any moment to die from their little diseases. No kidding. I thought for sure I would be gone by 20, if not from food poisoning then surely from cancer. Well, here I am, 32, alone out here on this path and flailing away the mosquitoes, only mildly worried about malaria.
I get back to my car sitting at the far side of the dirt circle turn around. Didn't there used to be a field here? I know because my Dad had us searching through the tall grass for the foundation of a long gone house. We'd trace out the living room, where we thought the bedrooms should be. My brother found the barn. My sister the haunted gravestones. Really, it was just a pile of rocks someone stacked in a philosophical fashion. My stomach would twist thinking about how desperate it must feel to be long forgotten, the only evidence of your life being a few dug out cement corners of a house sought out for shelter. I never showed it. My mom was antsy, waiting in the car. There are no bathrooms out here and her bladder said it was ready to go! I pretended that was why I herded everyone back to the car. Not the nagging sense of uselessness engulfing what started out as a sunshine happy day. The trees have all grown large since then. Those cement corners are now buried deep. My bladder is begging me to go home, so I do.