LETTERS

by David Eide

I had more than a few exhilarating walks. To walk alone, in the woods, within the sound of water is a divine sort of experience. There were no other habitations within miles of the farm and if one started walking toward the top of the mountain they were assured that nothing would stop them. Well, there were bears and snakes but they weren't necessarily going to harass the humans out on an adventure.

There were dogs of course. A dog in the mountains was as necessary as an ax or a garden. The dogs didn't seem to belong to anyone in particular but took to me for some reason. And, writer, you know I was not good around dogs. But they brought me sticks and I'd throw them up the path and they'd jump and fetch like troopers. After awhile I realized that the dogs were leading me and I had no idea where I was going. And as I got deeper into the path I was wary of rattlers. I knew the further you were away from the water the more likely it was you'd run into a snake. No one had been bitten by a snake but the snake represented something, was a symbol for sudden danger that could be inflicted in a second. But the dogs romped through the high grass and around dead logs as if the snake didn't exist. It was as though they were laughing at my fears. Ah human, you see, there's nothing here that can harm you." I had been poking around with my walking stick into every bit of high grass and felt my head pounding. "Human!", I could almost hear the dogs say, "There's nothing to fear!" They would look me in the eyes and then leap away into the tall grass, sniffing under the rocks.

As we went further up the trail I could hear the stream, off to the left, and got glances of it. What a sight! It was so wide and majestic for a mountain stream. There had been stories of a flashflood many years before. A log jam had built for decades until it broke one year and the water destroyed some mills. The life on the stream thinned out after that. The water could hypnotize me with its combination of sight and sound. I wanted to throw off my clothes and go wade into the water and laugh like a madman. I didn't but I wanted to.

I walked for as long as I could then headed down to the waterfall where I took several books and sat watching that water I was hypnotized by. The water made the most steadfast, hard, Spartan looking thing, like the mountain, appear to roll or glide up and down, against itself. There was nothing fixed about the mountain. All around me things were moving. I forgot myself. I forgot time. It dissolved away. Clock time at any rate. For one of the first times I could remember I stopped guessing what time it was. I learned that day comes, night comes, hunger comes, they all go back and come back again. There was no reason to keep tabs on it. In fact, my great anticipation was watching the emergence of the night sky that put me in some infinite dream state. I would go outside at 2 in the morning and stand under the pulsing stars and know where I came from.

David Eide
March 9, 2000
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