For two days it has been storming up high. I wait here for time to go, weather to clear, careful not to upset the cart but jonesin' just the same. People have been in touch; to maybe GO climbing but we'll see. I like to think they might protects me from the bleakness of it all. Days brisk windy the omnipresent smog blown to Texas or some similar conservative shit-hole. I have steel in my hands sharpening grinding touching hands calloused from the panel.
For I've become a rock-climber more lean my leanest in a decade or more where it all went I can't say but with my shirt off I see what I looked like (must of) when I was 28. Life seems less complicated with less baggage I do not miss the bulk I see a future in this a future of improbable lines cold chrome molybdenum smoking in the seams fruit-boots trimmed to just the very front plate or less, if I can manage it somehow...
I know it's still out there I just need to hunt for it stay lean ready for the moment of tying in that time before I connect see how prepared I am.
So here's a thought since you know where all the holds are in your gym take them ALL DOWN grind back there on a bright day then lovingly ever so lovingly grind the tool gouges out ablate if not repair some damage create a new feel in the hand because nothing rings like a new edge keenly sought or curve felt anew oh the challenge of that which does not meekly just lay-down...
Winter constitutes hardship mornings to make the face pinch hands long-dead to mid-forearm toes not seen until May 5. This year we will have more winter than most I feel and there shall be a reckoning oh yes spinster crags you shall yield not dry stone but that sheathed in luminous yellow-ocher-blue-white ice to make the fore-arms weep for the day all sinew-bone-muscle-blood melds to one.
Photo: Rob Fullerton.
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