Electrical Towers

A few days ago, I got on the bike early in the morning and set out for a neighborhood of trailers. It was open with willows and lakes. Were it not for the actual trailers, it in all actuality would have been picaresque. But I was not there for the lakes or the willows, I was there for the trails. Foot trails cutting through to other neighborhoods and the corner store, though humdrum, held a strong pull on me. A trail of any kind always does. I saw them many times but wasn't in a situation to travel them. They took me under tall telephone poles, the kind that large amounts of land are cleared to lay. I so love these telephone poles that reserve plots of land, the only fields left in this degenerate North Charleston. Islands of nature in the midst of industry. The first foot trail was short and I quickly turned back. The second put me right in the tall grasses under the towers. It was a culmination of sorts. At that moment, squinting northwesterly into the hazy morning, I came to realize the sheer spiritual emptiness of the land, how unsatisfactory and unable to quench my dry soul. As I type this, I imagine those towers stretching beyond and ascending, perhaps to the mountains.

I did not catch that Asheville-bound ride. It rained nearly all day today. I enjoyed all of the rain for the first six hours. Although there was no contra dancing tonight, I listened to Ricky Skaggs singing about square dancing with utmost joy and excitement. I listened to Sis' Draper over and over, enjoying the fiddle so much. It had be so long since it rained, the overcast and wetness reminded me of the day I left LEAF in May. It just made me think of a lot of mountain experiences. I loved the wind that follows the rain, how refreshing, how rewarding, how gentle. Ah, that prophesying wind. I have been listening to Gillian Welch again. A melancholy rainy day is something I haven't had in months. It was very good for stoicism.