Pages of verse ran through my mind all weekend, all of it superior to whatever I manage to lay down here this morning. Like a waiter lost deep in the weeds, I have failed to keep up. It is too late to go back and capture the events of Friday afternoon, the slimy ride under the central Florida sun, the night on the town, the meeting of an icon.
Saturday, I came down out of the stands and got into the tree-climbing game. A year ago, even before the Accident of Ultimate Clarity, I was not able to move my body up a rope using a series of crunching maneuvers. This time, only the concern of how to get down slowed my progress. A lifetime spent beneath the shade of giant Live Oak trees and only now do I see them as the unknown frontier. Apologies to the Tour de France, sorry I missed the opening stage.
Sunday, smug with accomplishment, I rode solo around this steamy town. I rode through FAMU and FSU, Frenchtown, and into the old neighborhoods. I visited 5 of my past residences and took in all the years spent in Tallahassee, doing pretty much what I do now. I am wearing a groove in this town, playing that same favorite song over and over until I know every scratch and skip by heart as well as the lyrics and tune. I rode into the trails and the ground passed so easily beneath me. I felt like a bear dancing on a ball.
Monday morning, an encore performance, out into the forest for 4 hours of vision questing, as we moved constantly through the waves of heat, the smilax vines, and the sand. This is all so new to me again, this confidence that my body can get me in and out of adventures. Thanks to my swollen Achilles for reminding me to pace myself, slow it down, grab for those verses before they are all forgotten.