XXVIII
by Micah Ling
Hike up the hill behind the stables, through thick grass until your joints pull and you feel the shakes. Hike to level land, past the still pond and into the pines. Pass the rusted equipment and the busted glass from the old hunting cabin. Wonder when the last grizzled man sat and warmed his feet there. Walk until you’re unsure of direction and time, until wind echoes and your eyes scan like a puppy’s. Soon, you’ll trip on a stone and know you’re close. Soon, more stones, and you’ve nearly made it. When you hear the rush of water, strip down—this is what you’ve come for. Cry out like the birds above you. Whinny if you will—this is no time for inhibitions. Take your clothes off—all of them. Be naked. Take a good long look at being naked. Squint at toes and flesh; imagine gills. This is Mecca, this is home; why would there be anything more?
