When a man steps up to the treacherous edge of his
proverbial abyss, the vertigo can be unsettling.
All of life’s unlived moments scream like legion from that
dark hole. This morning I shucked off the notion of
routine and took a walk in the cold. The deer I had not seen in days
flushed out of the willow brush and cantered
gingerly along the frozen creek. They knew the ice was
one night thin. The biggest buck, sensing that I might be
snagged in a broad wariness, turned and kept his eye on
me. Men, in particular, can become dangerous when
they dwell unanchored on their personal insignificance. An
inkling of our plain existence is a uniquely human burden if
one chooses to shoulder it’s slow discomforts.
The old fence I built years ago with
second-hand materials needs to be taken up from
the ground and hauled away. I used to be afraid of
Sunday mornings. I am loosed in the prayer of garden work.