The Salmon Spa
We agree to meet a six AM even though we don't need to. There is something so delicious about waking up in the dark, stumbling into clothes and coffee, and falling in with a double yellow line. We follow November's full moon upriver, park at the trail head, hike to the pool and lay down our bones in that hot water.
The snow-dusted hillsides turn from blue to yellow under the watchful gaze of the cowdogs too proud to get in. I splash and throw pebbles and talk about everything and nothing, all at the same time. This is my favorite place and my favorite time of day. I let it be simple.
Home by noon, I stoke the wood stove. Girlfriends swing by and we have plans for homemade face masks. Instead we start talking and finally say goodbye as it starts to get dark.
I wonder what these journals are about. Sometimes it feels like a selfish, boring thing to take your hand and meander through a day. like this. I know this is not what good, tight, persuasive writing is. I know my sentences are too long and my paragraphs without purpose.
I know if I wrote like this.
And asked lots of questions?
And made big proclamations!
1) Perhaps in a list?
It would fit this form better. But maybe we should all have a place to write what is unpublishable.
I think what I'm trying to say with a journal is that:
I understand building and striving for a life that feels big, reaching and bold. I'm also learning there is something good about creating a small, bright thing. Sometimes I pick up this new life and it spins in my palms, vibrating with its energy. A novel idea, to pack all your light into such a small space and let it burn.