One day in August, I was backpacking alone in the mountains above Santa Fe, when a storm hit hard. In minutes the water was nearly ankle deep.
a dry plot of ground just large enough to pitch a tent,
the backpack inside, I
unrolled the sleeping bag, heated soup over the butane stove's comforting
Today I can see myself in those mountains again: backpack digging into shoulders, wearing the red down jacket that had been to Japan, water rising around mudcaked boots, ghosts emerging from a wilderness alive with the anxiety to survive.
Although I've told this story before, repetition is not circular. Biologist Lynn Margulis wrote, "It's not the individual but the community of life that evolves by cooperation, interaction, and mutual dependence." Each telling begins the story once again, reforged in the rubric of communal life.