22 June 2010

“Look out mama, there’s a white boat comin’ up the river…”

Life in the mountains of the north. There is something to be said about living at altitude, and I think Bill Murray kept saying it to Andie McDowell in “Groundhog Day,” but that is not what I am thinking. The cool evening breeze through the piñons tonight wafts in the smell of some hikers or campers downwind who are partaking in a little bit of the herb. I miss those days, I must say, and I really miss those nights, where finding a nice secluded place was a good way to end a day’s hike, and then firing up a joint or a bowl of some good green was a way to really enjoy the serenity of what the Creator left us in charge of. I haven’t tried any for 16 years now, and it isn’t because of illegality or anything of that nature. After 20 some years of smoking, it was time for a change.

I’m enjoying this moment of peace, and reminiscing about years and bongs past and passed. The lights in my study are off now, the iPod is off, and the only sounds are the wind and my quiet clicking at the keys. The smell still comes through. And as the memories pass through my mind like the smoke from that joint wisps upward on the breeze through the trees, I am reminded of an album by Neil Young from the late 70s, “Rust Never Sleeps.” We must have listened to that album and cassette 100s of times while enjoying the same gift as my neighboring trekkers are tonight.

When Pavlov’s dogs heard the bell, they drooled. When I caught this scent, my mind went to times past, and maybe I drooled, but in my head is a long lost song about Marlon Brando, Pocahontas and me…

Filed under:La Voz del Norte — la voz @ 22:25 pm

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