I have become accustomed to his being near – if not in the bed at night, no more than a few minutes away. Tonight that is not the case and every creak gives me pause. My hand moves familiarly over the loaned Springfield, the heavily checkered grips a firm reminder that it’s all on me.
There is something about the night that has changed for me. I can hardly imagine doing now what I did when younger – leaving at midnight for some assignation or another. It isn’t as though I’ve become a recluse but I truly do not like much of the world around me, now. Every little idiocy bristles so that I am brought to pointed language…
I am afraid the time spent away hasn’t helped, either. Hours from any sort of electronic minder, any other people, and the massive deceit gave me a perspective I have not had since the last time I went to Dream Lake. There, with the expansive view, I felt a tremendous ease of heart and soul.
I think of it often, wondering why it has been so long since I’d traveled there. Delays…as if tomorrow were assured or those mountains would remain accessible forever. What I would like to do I need to do, soon. I doubt I shall ever cross that wide expanse to Europe, now. Never to see those places that ancient history bades me to honor. But this land – this sweet land is being turned into a fetid swamp beneath of feet of the banal. I ought to see it while I still can – while there is something left worth the trip.
All this…another delay. So that I needn’t go to bed alone, not have my guard up and senses not quite resting. I wish I’d gone with them…the feral pigs are, at least, honest in their predations, sincere in their intent. Those other feral creatures? Frighteningly capricious.