I’m back in Montana to work for the season. Hopefully my last.

Old habits have been haunting me like bad memories. The urge to withdraw, to isolate, disconnect from everyone and everything, has been difficult to shake loose from. Granted, they are protective habits, things I have done in the past that have kept me in one piece. A way of watching the world burn while I whistle a tuneless song without rhythm or rhyme.

My life has become a poem. Not lyrical. Certainly without a sense of metric. One that tells a tale in a minimum of words. Paints pictures with invoked senses and shared memories.

Here, I am senseless. Thoughtless. I am more likely to become static, a statue, than to embrace the dynamics of that poem.

I’d love to say that today, at this very moment, I have shaken those old habits that allow me to withstand the erosion of time alone. That I have once again embraced that sense of self that plays out like an eternally read tarot spread. But I’m not sure I can.

Then again, I’m not sure I can’t. So there doesn’t seem to be any reason to worry about it. One less fuck to give.

I’m good with that.

By the way, that photo? Not where I live, just how it feels 🙂

Photo by Karim MANJRA

Published by J M Greff

J M Greff is the rambling author, trucker philosopher, peace loving hippie, spiritual warrior, backpacking pantheist, wandering minstrel, and poet fool who created A Caravan of One for you. View all posts by J M Greff