Camp fire in the dark

June 23, 2010

I lived in a bottle. I was the unread message in the bottle, floating, drifting on the currents of the ocean. It was damp and cold, but I was safe from drowning.

I spun a stationary wheel, frrrr, frrr, frrrr…active, focused, the purpose lost but the intention unstoppable.

I listened, obeyed, respected all the rules presented. I was a good girl.

When I was little, I would play I was Davy Crockett, I wore a coon skin hat I had made with a green velvet dress that I cut up and sewed all by myself. I used to set out in the great unknown of the empty lot up the street and up the creek up and I imagined these amazing adventures.

When I was little I would jump in the middle of puddles to see if I could make a perfect splash.

When I was little I got a blue bicycle with a sparkly banana seat, I loved it so. Then I wanted a motorcycle. I had photos of racing motorbikes plastered on the wall in my room.

When I was little all summer long I slept outside in my tent, amidst the fireflies, under the moon and the stars. Some nights I would go into the barn and go kiss the noses of the horses in there. Other nights I would go walk barefoot in the field to feel the voluptuousness of the night.

When I was little, I used to walk at the end of the street, it was a dead end with a field of wild grass and weeds. I thought that if I walked far enough I would hit the Far West, where the horses and cowboys lived and where the sun and freedom and wild adventures awaited.

Right now I sit by a camp fire, it’s night. I hear a cricket. There always seem to be a night creature cricketing in the dark no matter where you are.

I feel the cool of the night coming in after the heat. I hear the sound of the flames licking the wood. The pine trees seem to hover over the glow of this laptop.

Today I rode in the scorching heat, my jacket open, the wind beating my body. I have not felt the wind on my chest in a long long time. My blood flows, I sweat. This body of mine is alive. My mind, well, it courses its own winding path. I look around and I am dwarfed, exhilarated, enchanted touched by the Gods.

Today I melted in a partnership with my machine, a joining of flesh and steel. An impossible amalgam of blood, spirit, fire, fuel, controlled explosions, rubber and asphalt, gravity, G-forces, traction, emotion and direction.

On June six 2010 I finally walked at the end of my street and took off for the Far West. I’ve left the ceiling of a home for the the vaulted infinity of the skies. To bruise, to bleed, to ache, to tire, to fear, to try again, to fail, to get back up, to scream, to laugh, to feel ecstasy, to long, to exult.

I ramble. It’s getting chilly, it’s gorgeous, the fire burns, the wood was gifted to me by a fellow camper. I am blessed. I can only thank the Universe, God, the Great Spirit, all the Gods in the skies and under the earth.

Here we are all of us traveling through space & time at three thousand miles per hour or so. All of us dreaming. Oh my, but what a thought. All of us dreaming.


7 Responses to “Camp fire in the dark”

  1. Mawie Says:

    En pensée, je suis assise près de toi devant un feu et je suis heureuse. Et je suis fière de toi et d’avoir été cette mère qui a permis à sa fille de dormir dans la tente derrière l’écurie. Je sens l’odeur du museau des chevaux..
    Je suis bien contente de pouvoir suivre ton périple grâce à la magie de l’ordinateur
    Continue à vivre intensément les joies et les difficultés.
    Je t’aime, gros bisous.
    Mawie xxx

  2. Myrna Jacobs Says:

    Once again I am floored by your journal! When you are in a location, you need to put together a book of these journals with photos. Blurb is a great site for it. Keep it up. I’m thrilled with the whole thing! hugs girl. Keep the rubber side down.

    • Marie-Claude Meunier Says:

      quand j’étais petite, je dormais toujours dehors, même l’hiver parfois, pour admirer les étoiles et la vie nocturne autour de moi. Un jour, avec un cousin, nous avons revêtu nos vêtement de cowboys et d’indien et nous sommes partis vers le far west… nous avons traversé le gros bois, ensuite un autre champ, ensuite un autre gros bois.. nous avons fait notre propre cabane dans le bois pour dormir car nous avons marché pas mal longtemps. nous avions ma chienne Vicky avec nous, nous avons été partis deux jours, tout fière de nous… mais les parents l’étaient moins, la police nous cherchais et nous nous cherchions le fameux farwest avec les indiens, les vrais et les cheveaux sauvages… Au bout du compte on avait fait quand même cinq km à 9ans dans le bois… c’Était vraiment magique..

      Si tu le remarques parfois je me joins à toi en pensées et je voyage avec toi, sans trop prendre de place pour te laisser ta grande liberté.

      Je suis privilégié de connaitre Danielle Hébert !


  3. Duane Thorin Says:

    The term “poetry in motion” does not begin to describe your poetry or your motion on this journey. Many thanks for sharing so vividly all this sensual and cerebral exhilaration. My heart rides along as I read your generous journal.
    —— mssr. duane back on the trail in Altadena

  4. Mélonai Says:

    Bonjour la belle Danielle
    Quelle aventure. Tu me fais pleurer avec la beauté de tes mots. Je n’ai que d’amour pour toi, et moi aussi, je suis si fière de t’avoir comme amie. Continue… pédale la belle, et à bientôt.
    bisous, Mélonai

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: