Tuesday, July 29, 2008

A Day in the Life, Part II
"The Tetons"

Everyone's a building burning
With no one to put the fire out
Standing at the window looking out
Waiting for time to burn us down

Modest Mouse, "Blame it on the Tetons"

I've spent the morning waiting for the night to shake off, certain that chronic fatigue is more than an urban legend.

And I wonder if for every one of these posts — every attempt at assigning words to the summer's thus-far-adventures — will be the same.

An exposition on wordlessness. A litany of the ineffable. A diatribe on appreciating aesthetics when all the while desolation is just around the corner.

And so it goes. And goes. These stories with no beginning, middle or end.

This diurnal battle to find the energy to speak when I want nothing more than to retreat to my bed

Pull up the covers

And dream the world away.

Or should I tell you? Should I say what I am thinking? Should I offer those few words I've jotted down in the margins of my notebook?

This is the first day of the last of our life together.

But where do I go from there? From here?

How do I continue when I am speaking of a recent past, now at odds with my present?

These are memories. Photographs are nearly always that, and a little more. Every image tells a story; an emotion.

And one, I fear, I'm losing the ability to articulate.

But I will say this for Wyoming: it's prettier than you might think.

Amazing, really, with all variety of landscapes and vistas: plains and desert; mountains and red rock.

And the wildlife is as diverse as it is accessible: deer, antelope,

moose, buffalo,

and wild horses.

[Rumor has it there are grizzly bears, too, though I didn't see any of those.]

I am glad for the time we took through the Tetons. Through Wyoming. State highways are nearly always more scenic than the ExpressWay, if not more than a little bit slower.

And that, I think, it what we need more of.

We need more slow.

Can I say that? Can I use an adjective as a noun?

It doesn't matter, really. The point remains the same.

There's a world of difference between letting life drag on, and seizing the day.

And so — whatever you do — don't wait to act until these moments have gone

too far away


MelO said...

TWP;  Both of your posts so far have made me tear up a little... Despite your doubts about your writing (or "lack" thereof?), I have found all of your words to be very powerful and moving.  You are so gifted with the camera... your pictures truly evoke emotions
and for the record, you can totally say that. We really do need more 'slow.'

david said...

Every time you post one of these, I have the same three thoughts - each of these photos could stand on their own (and how does she do that) - the words could stand alone - and the words and photos together...well, Melo said it best.

Please say that there will be Parts 3,4,5...

Technomonk said...

I liked the dark cloud by itself and the clouds over the mountains the most... all were good though. Dug the post!

Pamela said...

the best line "we need more slow"

I remember driving through Wyoming when my first born was so tiny... and it was about 10 below. The wind was blowing and the car heater couldn't keep the wind side warm, so one side of the old car was baking and the other side had ice.

That very last picture pulled that out of me.

A lovely lovely Post!!

Unacademic Advisor said...

The statement that we need more slow is a common one but necessary nonetheless. It's not what you say; it's how you say it, and you say it well.

Perhaps you are not losing the ABILITY to articulate, but the DESIRE. I often feel that way... have felt that way a lot recently. I don't even take as many pictures as I used to.

I justify the change to myself by saying I want to experience things, not take their picture or talk about them. (Good ole Walker Percy coming in there.) But I'm not sure that's all of it... pretty sure it's not.

Anonymous said...

Wyoming is vast and empty. And as pamela points out, the wind never stops blowing. It can be rather peaceful.

I honestly don't think I could live without moutains.