Chapter C, as in Climbing Laterally

I know now — as there are a few things that I do know, even now — that I am at a point of neediness. There are things that I have (not much, see), and they won’t get me by, so I’ll first go looking for a source of water.

I look down at my watch. It says 5:30. I don’t know if it’s AM or PM, because the watch is the old kind, with just those arms. No digital. I haven’t look at it in a while, so I’m not sure if it has changed. I look up and still see a bit of light, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from . So I close my eyes hard, reopen them to focus, and head to the west. At least I think it’s west.

There isn’t much of a path laid for me. I mean, I’m not expecting the red carpet treatment, but cows and deer and other small animals and bugs are in these parts — I mean, I can just tell these things — and they have to go from here to there. From there to there. Here and back. I’m just going there. But I’m not sure how long that will take me. One foot at a time, as they say.

I move straight ahead regardless of the facts: a), I can’t see well, and b), I’m not really dressed for this sort of thing (the shoes, really, or lack thereof, of good ones). I’m moving forward and pushing branches and sometimes leaves and other times bigger branches away from my face, arms. I hop over some things, mostly logs. I slip a few times. I’m concerned about my traction.

After a certain point, when I really start to focus in, all I can really see is bark. You know, the bark on the trees. It’s everywhere. I thought there were a lot of leaves, but not anymore. Bark. In some cases the guts of the tree where the bark was chewed off, scratched off, struck by lightning. Whatever.

But I’m still moving forward. It seems to get lighter, where I’m headed, and darker at the same time. And I thought once I moved away from the wind I’d be able to determine where that sound was coming from. I’ve already walked for a while. A few minutes, a few hours. Could be a combination of the two. Or neither. I’m really not very good at these things these days.

At some point (see, I’m already starting to lose track), I sit down on a mound of mud and sticks on top of an uprooted tree. I sit down because I think the mound is dry. Upon sitting, I realize I am wrong. But I’ve been through this before, when I got myself into this situation by waking up some minutes ago. Soaked through the layers. I sat down because I was tired, and I’m sitting down because I am tired.