A Single Image

When you can't sleep.

I am not great at sleeping, never have been, used to wake up early as a kid and get the rest of the house up because I was bored and their peace bugged me. I grew out of that and grew into normal old insomnia. Writing is not at odds with that, though the things I write when I decide to get out of bed, go to the other room, put on “Hallogallo” real quiet, open up the laptop, and see what happens, well, they tend to be odd. The one last night sure was: very specific in ways that do not usually happen.

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NEAR TO BASE

The canopy of the oaks and maples sending down darkness that sinks to the earth and hums the soil into new life, detritivores dancing through, the silent mycorrhizal conversation. That we are not there to watch is not our concern. Among the shadows is a young man who has been missing for months, a legal matter, but a larger law. He wears a uniform and one shoe. He is going down into the humming soil as well, is greeted in blessed and ruinous embrace. The forest blinks. Time spills. It would be tomorrow if that meant anything.