The time has come for me to live and you to die and we both know which is best. Your waxed form never again to face the thudding Sierra nor the blistering desert. Never again to feel the living earth nor the hellish hail.
My friends, your wizened and cracked faces bring comfort, but a strong spirit and weak flesh go only so far. Every mark a story, every scar a battle. Your scuffs are my life’s highlights, your scratches seared memories. My hand caresses your skin no less gently than a lover, for the texture of your skin is the texture of my life. Your laces bound our flesh as one. Fitted in action, we were one as only one could be.
Together we have faced down ursus and serpens and sapiens, together we have bouldered and shouldered, ambled and scrambled. Rest in peace my friends, we have walked the good walk.
(Please note that posts and comments will be somewhat sporadic during the summer as travel plans interfere with writing schedules.)
“There’s man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.” Samuel Beckett