marichiko

Well, I kind of did that for 3 months in western Colorado when I camped alone beside the San Miguel River with my faithful cat, Traveler (may God rest his small soul, and may the creature who did Traveler in spend a very long sojourn in hell).

Anyhow, looked back on from a distance, it was an almost idyllic time in my life. Yeah, there were plenty of man eating mosquitoes; yeah I was in lion country and always built a big fire at dusk to scare them off (must have worked cuz here I still am); yeah, there were days of torrential non-stop rain when I feared the river would overflow its banks; yeah, I got pretty lonely sometimes; and sometimes my evening meal consisted of just a baked potato and a baked yam.

I never in my wildest dreams imagined that I would end up doing something like that at age 51, but I did. It was drop dead beautiful where I was. The high peaks of the Weiminuche wilderness were to the south. A few miles down the road was the intersection with the dirt road which leads up to the top of the magnificent Uncomphahgre Plateau. I would drive up there sometimes toward twilight and watch the nighthawks come dive for moths in my headlights.

One evening toward dusk there was a giant hatch of flying ants. Every nighthawk and its brother came to share in the feast. There must have been easily 50 - 75 nighthawks swooping and diving over my campsight that evening. They paid me no attention at all and swooped so close to me that I could see the little bristles round their beaks and the lovely herringbone pattern of their feathers - as if each bird were wearing a solemn little business suit. I was filled with joy to be made a part of this incredible event. I felt that I, too, had become a nighthawk, dancing and soaring straight up in the warm summer evening toward the stars that were just beginning to come out. The birds had an uncanny accuracy - they came so close to one another with nary a collision, and I saw how they would sight in on an ant and snap it out of the air with the greatest of ease. After a while, I just laid down on the ground and watched, I was becoming so dizzy with it all!

Oh, there were so many other things, too! I never even thought of writing about those three months, but maybe I will someday. All, I can say is, if that's where your heart leads you, its never too late to go.

I emerged from those three months by the San Miguel with a self confidence that I can make it through the hardest of times and still find joy even in sorrow. And I now know what it is to fly with the night hawks...

PS And if you ever want to read a little known but truly wonderful book about that part of the world, do yourself a favor and buy a copy of Seasonal by Ed Engle. Its a lyric description of life in the out of doors in southwestern Colorado. Engle started off as a poet and is now an outdoors writer, Seasonal is his book that he wrote as he transitioned between the two writing styles. The book is pure poetry in eloquent prose form. You can still find it used at Amazon.com. LJ and Jinx, you guys would love that book!