Killing Time
July 1 2008


Luckily, it was August.
On a wilderness lake, somewhere north
deposited one-by-one around the shore,
each alone.

This was not survivalist,
not to let the busyness of cooking and comfort and warmth
distract us.
We were to explore the inner self,
become mindful, focused.

Luckily, late in August, there aren’t many bugs.
But the nights are cold,
and underneath my plastic sheet
my handful of gorp* a fond memory
I felt the unaccustomed burden of time.
And loneliness, which I know well.
And the primeval fear of the dark
— leaves stirring,
the crack of a branch,
something calling, close by.
And it was then, the drizzle began.

So the first dawn was a miracle
— survived the night
a chance at warmth.

Back then, I failed at this.
I let my mind play tricks
and pitied myself.
I fantasized about the end of it,
and mercilessly killed time.
But here I am, remembering, 30 years on.
And the lesson of gratitude, as well;
especially for the simple things
like food and blankets and screens,
and basic human company.

And now, I am no romantic, no Thoreau,
and do not believe that only ascetics can achieve enlightenment
only suffering create great art.
So my mind may wander out-of-control;
but my body, in comfort, stays home.


* Since spell-check questioned this, it may be necessary to explain. “Gorp” is the acronym for “good old raisins and peanuts”, that famously delicious and high energy food well known to all wilderness travellers. (I usually cheat, and add dried fruit, granola, and smarties as well!)