Take it as it comes ...

I checked my phone as I was walking out the door. It was a 412 area code I didn't know, probably an ex-landlord or that Oakland dentist who continues to claim I owe him $50 a year later. So I didn't answer. And, beside, plans for the night didn't include a phone, my wallet, or my keys. It's funny, any friend in this world, I could "brag" about my latest, best cold weather camping experience -- a low around ten degrees and about an inch of snow fell -- but not to you. You're the friend built of Canadian-born bones; my night was another day at the park. So, boo, let my have mine! Cody shivered all night long and, as advertised, my thirty-degree bag wasn't quite warm enough at ten degrees (I still have the same bag as our moons ago Point Park adventure ... a dream to spend the night ruined by the cops). But I made it through the almost sixteen hours of darkness, mostly falling asleep in what felt like five- and ten-minute increments (no phone meant no sense of time, the way the woods are supposed to be). I woke up and quickly made some tea on the stove, packed up all my gear, all of it frosted-over, and slowly walked the two miles home down the snow-crusted fire road, proud. When I worked in Glacier I was only living in Montana, I wasn’t living a Montana lifestyle. I may as well have lived in a frat house with a view. I'm making up for that lost time now. This weather is brutal and awful, but it ain't going to be warm for another five months, so I better embrace it. Fuck it. Thank you for your message; it reminded me of another time. Looking back, I feel like I spent most of that summer on a Rock Room bar stool, every five seconds glancing out the always-open door, looking for you to crest Herron Avenue, sweaty and out of breath ... my vision of you. You were always bound for it, this.