I step outside under the high eaves of the tin roof dripping
from the finally melting frost. On mornings like these as a boy I would chase
deer into the forest and climb the tallest pine.
I take a piss outside, standing staring out over three distinct
mountain lines demarcated in various blue hues, just now showing their forest
details as the sun comes up over my back.
The deciduous trees glow orange and red like ancient fires
captured in time amongst the pines. And for some reason I feel tears sting my
eyes.
