adam-w-c

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old article but a good one

#dave matthews band

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old film II

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old film

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Explosions in the Sky

A mosquito brushes against my eyebrow and I angrily swat it away. I mumble under my breath and start to wonder why I came out here in the first place. My fleece hoodie is pulled over my head and buttoned to the top button, concealing all except for my face. They can smell me, sense me, taste me… I slap my calf and successfully kill another pest. My second fleece layer has been wrapped around my legs like a tight skirt; the black leggings I’m wearing aren’t thick enough to protect me from their wrath. I’ve perched myself on a rough, slanted rock, and soon my butt starts to ache. I shift my weight forward, backward, and side to side. The rough surface scrapes my skin through my thin leggings.  A feel a small pinch on my lower left thigh; another one found an opening. “Fuck you!” I shout, leaping from my talus perch. My second fleece falls to the ground, useless. Smacking my leg a mosquito squishes under my index finger. I brush it off, annoyed. The sun has since set, and the mountains are beginning to fade into the horizon. I watch the mountains surrounding Jackson, and beyond, grow darker shades of blue and purple as my piece of Earth turns away from the sun. A quick siren from down below calls up, and I imagine a mighty fire engine warning crowds of pedestrians to mind oncoming traffic. I’m growing impatient. How long have I been waiting here? I’ve been stationary too long; the mosquitos have begun to descend once again. I begin to pace. “If you were a river in the mountains tall…” The shadows around me grow darker. “The rumble of your water would be my call…” Darker still. “If you were the winter, I know I’d be the snow…” The light is nearly gone. “Just as long as you were with me when the cold winds blow…” I stop singing and listen as I hear a loud explosion off in the distance. Not much time left now. I continue to pace. “All I want is you will you be my bride? Take me by the hand and stand by my side…” An animal moves in the darkness. I don’t stop. “All I want is you will you stay with me? Hold me in your arms and sway me like the sea…” Another blast from down below. And another. It’s finally time. Stumbling back to my rock, I snatch up my fleece from where it had landed. I wrap its sleeves around my legs and pull my thick socks up to cover the area it couldn’t reach. The skirt I’m wearing narrowly covers my thighs, but I tuck it in until I can no longer see the black from my leggings. I know this won’t save me from every devious, blood-sucking, disease carrying mosquito, but it’s enough; the show has begun. I look out from the side of the mountain to the small village tucked away in a valley. A tiny yellow torpedo shoots up from the park, and suddenly the entire town is illuminated by the purple explosion. The colors have only begun to dissipate when another torpedo explodes, this time gold. The sounds come much later. Not until I see total darkness do I hear the blasts that had signaled me earlier. Then they were phantom noises. Now they are fireworks. Small torpedoes shoot relentlessly into the space above the town, boasting brilliant explosions of every color in the rainbow. I sit alone in the deep, dark woods watching the spectacle, my legs hugged to my chest. Smoke from the fireworks begin to crawl through the valley and becomes illuminated with each new color. The dark mountains surrounding the small village are brought to life, as if I were adjusting their color on a screen. The mosquitoes don’t bother me now, neither does my rock. I have brief moments in which I take note of exactly where I am and what I’m witnessing; all I can do is smile. Small animals rustle in the bushes near me, but my eyes are locked on the view. I sit on my rock, and I am small, soft, and vulnerable. It is dark, I am alone. The large, colorful blasts of fire are mere birthday candles compared to the mountains, and I am an ant. The show is for me, and for a moment I become lost in them, but I remind myself where I am. There is a feeling of comfort, like the woods are here to watch after me, make sure I don’t stray into trouble. I’m not alone anymore, although, I never really was. It’s easy to lose sight of the true meaning of things. Like getting up to go to work every day, but forgetting why. Or fighting with a spouse and feeling so unhappy, but not remembering why you fell in love with that person in the first place. For me, I forgot why I love to hike. I felt an obligation to go on hikes I didn’t necessarily want to do, just so they could be checked off on a list. And for what? Recognition? Bragging rights? The purpose of peak-bagging lists is for personal enjoyment, and I forgot that. Guilt played a role towards the end when I would skip hikes, opting for a road trip or just to explore some place new. I made myself feel guilty, like I was letting myself down by pursuing other activities that make me happy. After recently realizing what I was doing to myself was unhealthy, I released the negative thoughts and finally remembered why I love to hike. When I’m outside, I feel so beautiful. This is not in a physical sense, although that plays a role, but I feel natural. As if I belong in that place, and I am strong, and I am smart. My mind is clear and my heart is light. The only times I sing are when I’m boulder hopping along a river, or clambering up a mountain side. I talk in foreign accents to myself, and I constantly make myself laugh. My happiest moments are spent outside, no matter the activity. The future is bright, the past is gone, and all that matters is the present moment.  

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Roger Dean (English, b. 1944, Ashford, Kent, UK) - Artwork for Yes’ Relayer Booklet Fold Out Right, 1974

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Climbed the second Flatiron

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“Clever Girl”

A little recognition for the real star of Jurassic Park. 

This print is now available on Redbubble

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May, 2015

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“Why be a fool when you can chase away Your blind and your gloom I have blessed each one of these bullets And they shine just like a spoon

To have sixty silver wishes Is a small price to pay They'll be your private little fishes And they'll never swim away”

#tom waits

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Writer Fights #3