With this mysterious bottle of wine I found in my kitchen upon my return, I shall attempt to marble my way around explaining what happened to my June of 2012.
It woke up like a demon in a birth canal on the fifth, hungry and ready to point the laser eyes of summer at every snow-capped mountain, frigid campsite, and Fahrenheit degree that crossed its path. A few days shy of four weeks later, I'm reading reports of all the wildfires blazing the states we crossed. It's an odd thing, looking at the greasy atlas, retracing our penned routes -- I could almost use the same lines to draw in which forests we stayed in are burning to the ground at this very moment.
Now, in June, I've managed to learn quite a bit about forest fires...and I've managed to see a few places that are still recovering from fires 50 years ago. It takes a long fuckin' time for a forest to regrow.
I'm bewildered that I got to see all these places -- some literally days before they would endure an event from which they may never recover -- in the nick of time. I waited so long to travel; every shred of my being wanted motion for as long as I can remember. And when I do, I manage to do it just in time.
Also, I seem to have quit smoking cigarettes. Hooray.
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