Merrick & Okum
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| From Alaskan In The Hinterlands |
It's not a large Radio Flyer.
In fact, it didn't hold my brother and I comfortably at all. I'm smaller by five years so I sit up front under the handle. His legs are balanced dangerously on the thick rims so he can use his heels as breaks. I'm suppose to help steer, though really my dimpled hands are just keeping warm under his and he likes the job of steering. We're in a high speed race car hitting the barely-paved slope, low to the ground, crunching gravel louder than a logging truck. I mean, we're fast!
Now. The wagon I pull in my dream is filled with precious things, stacked high and tight. I'm trucking it along the side of a mountain road this late, purple evening. The occasional headlights of on-coming cars don't know what to do with me, high beams or low. I'm straining to keep it upright and keep a steady pace.
Mocking bird, two lengths ahead is hop-loop bouncing, straight tail up, whortling foreign translations. Ma says they're spies who tell our secrets to the gods.
I wake up knowing the dream is about learning to use the internet and how to write. This is a learning process that's taking place in public. I've always crouched on a marble boulder in the middle of the river and told my tales to Raven. He laughs and tells his friends who gleefully bounce my stuff back and forth between each other, the mountains, forest, and glaciers. Any feedback I get is highly personalized. And private.
Though outdoors.
Dilemma and odd circumstances. I'll sleep on it.
