The path climbs steeply upwards

And the dog and I climb it

He padding forth and I

Rolling off the balls and toes of my feet

Trying to muster energy with the movement.

It’s a new wilderness, here

On a dusty road lined with sage brush and succulents

I am full of desire for it

Full of hope and also fear

I look for rattlesnakes

Imagine mountain lions

Still I want to sit in the dried creek bed and feel peaceful

And write

Want to find a practice free of hunger pains and fabricated distractions

I’d like also to feel confident

Not infantile or awaiting

The lions mighty pounce

Is it normal to imagine one’s own grizzly demise?

I do.