What do you call a blog post composed on a no to low-tech semester, from campgrounds and backcountry tent sites in the midst of a job that takes 24/7 engagement, permits few comforts or private moments, and gives back the world? Unwritten.
The obvious irony is that there are a hundred stories to tell each day, lessons upon lessons and breathtaking vistas but there’s Just. No. Time. No time for stringing together thoughts, and little access to the means of sharing them.
I find myself stealing away to snap early morning photos of campgrounds, wet moss, and more pictures of sunlight through cedar, through hemlock, through fir, than a person could possibly justify, yet I lack even the words to create the captions that would give them context. I’m living outside of time, in no time, and most of the time, it ain’t half bad.
But then time returns and reminds me that it’s still passing, and carrying along with it all the dear loves I can’t reach out to from here. That’s when I feel the void of words, and so instead I take one more picture, measuring time in trees.