So Far Beyond

Today, I believe, is the twelfth day of March, 2017. I hope my calendar is correct but sometimes I lose track of time out here. Days are full of possiblies, or possibilities. Are we going the right way? Are we lost? Will we survive? Will anyone ever know what happened to us? Will anyone care?

Possibly.

Possibly yes, possibly no. We don’t spend much time discussing these, at least not with vocal voices. I spend time discussing this in my head as I slowly cover new terrain. I think, no one else has probably been here before, before correcting myself, no, others have been here. They just left without a mark.

I correct that, too. They left a mark. I can’t see their mark. I don’t know where to look. I may have just stepped over it, a realization that makes me pause to take in the surroundings.

It remains unstable underfoot, made worse from overnight dew slicking down every surface. Frost and ice hides in some shadows. At least sunshine is showing early today, promising us the chance of warmth and light, and a day without slogging through rain.

I feel alone out here. Given the right place and moment, I can look back and see how far I’ve come. Other times, I’m just lost in the landscape’s details.

Sometimes my thoughts distract me. Songs of my youth entertain me and become backdrop to meandering questions about where I’d lived and who I’ve known. Corollary questions emerge about what happened to those people and what they became like after they grew up, assuming they reached adulthood, maturity, and aren’t dead. So many things can kill us. We are fragile. A few degrees warmer or colder can be dangerous for food, water and air. Then, others will kill us with guns, knives and other means to address their woes, fears and angers. Yes, we’re fragile. I wonder, too, what they thought of me, and if they ever look me up or try to find me. I’ve tried to find a few of them. From that I’ve learned, we are a large population and many of us share the same names. To find more information, someone always wants paid.

Sometimes the sounds of others out here like me impinge upon my awareness. We’re all out in space that’s new to us but others have often already been here. It’s tricky, messy and confusing. Shambolic. Yeah, I’ve already walked around those tracks. Time to move on.

Move on from what and to what are constant nags.

I took up this life. This is on me. There are no others to blame except those who encouraged me. “You can do it,” they told me. Maybe they were wrong. It’s time like this that I wonder if perhaps there are millions of Fates up there, spinning out the lines of our lives as we respond to their threads and wait for them to cut us free.

Enough of this. Time to go write like crazy, at least one more time. That’s the only way I’ll ever get out of here.