sailing north 1700 S. to 1035 S.

It's one in the morning and my front porch is perfect. The wind blows gusts tonight, dust and leaves skitter down the urban streets of Salt Lake City. i am tired. So much more mentally than physically. Mostly because i've stopped for the first time in about a week. Even now i've not stopped so much as paused, before i wake to a new list of tasks and problems to solve. But i am sitting, and the armchair is soft, my army jacket and white t-shirt just warm enough to shield the billowing wind. my hair won't stay still which is fine, it feels good that way. So rare is this wind, in this valley, that it is something of a spectacle. Like a lightning storm on a summer night. Fresh air blowing across my face, while sitting in an armchair, is a treat. So i don't move for a while. Before going inside i head out to stand in the street, 400 E. The wind is stronger here and i lift my arms to feel the pressure of the gusts. I wish for a skateboard, a longboard, and my shoes. My body responds to this wish and i am back to the street in a flash. I point the board to the north and take a big push, lift my arms and wait... the wind is not as great now, but still it's there. I am coasting though, only slowly now, each tar seam slowing me down. My hands are in my pockets and i hope for wind. From behind me i hear it coming, swooshing through the trees, and around the bungalow houses that line the street it comes. I think i feel it start to move me, keeping my hands in my pockets i spread my coat to catch the breeze. The wind is subtle but it works and i am happy. Coasting slowly i continue. A half a block has passed. The wind picks up. My back is catching a great gust and the jacket is definitely helping. Its been two blocks. I am sailing a long board. But there are gaps in the gale and my progress slows, i wonder if i might stop. No im pretty sure i'm on my last 10 feet of continuous sailing. Wait no, it starts again, catches me and im off, rolling on. Up ahead a police car is parked aggressively in front of a house. I am still rolling, and the officer sees me on the longboard almost crawling now, canvas jacket spread wide, 1AM, hair blazing. "Not quite windy enough" he says, "Well i started at 1700 S," i inform him. "Good luck" comes his reply. But i'm inching as i pass and the road has stones on it now which are not helping very much. Maybe im through, the officer is probably right. I decide to keep positive. Almost immediately another gust picks up and i'm bouncing over the rocks. The wind is not parallel to the street though, so using my minute knowledge of sailing i make the effort to tack my way back to the smooth center of the road. tacking, i think thats what its called. using winds going in different directions than your destination to propel you toward that destination. 1300 S. is just ahead, thats four blocks and i'm not done. I look both ways and coast through the red light. A brief pause, then the strongest gust yet, and its as if i am running but with no effort flying down the street. The pavement is smooth and another block slides easily under my feet. Both feet at the front of the board i relax and coast, like the soul surfers on TV. Tip-toeing to the front of the boards I lean forward with outstretched arms. Up ahead i see the street sign that reads 1100 S. My legs are tired and so is the wind, i look back and cannot even focus on my starting point though the street is perfectly straight, it is six and a half blocks away. The road roughens and my board slows, I look at my watch it is 1:25AM. i continue to slow, i pass the 1000 S. street sign. hope for wind, but its done. My wheels are stopped in front of the alley marked 1035 S. I am going home to bed. The wind has blown much from a weary mind. Board under arm I walk the seven and a half blocks home, eat a bowl of shredded wheat, with whole milk, and hit the hay.

long needled pines

i spent the last four days in Spokane WA.
it is a nice place with many long needled pines.
three intense days of coaching at the Pacific Northwest Qualifier.
we left town at 4am on a plane home to Salt Lake City
Salt Lake City is my home. for now.
this coming week we will travel to Baltimore.
and i will be back in the east. for a week.
I will be home for a week.
I have found the saying "home is where the heart is"
to be false. my heart is where my family is.
where green trees overshadow low bushes and brush
where familiar rivers are close.
My home is where i live and the community which surrounds me.
I cannot leave the home i have found in utah. for now.
because this is the work i want to be doing,
the music i want to be writing,
the sunday dinner i hate missing.
But my heart is my family and when i visit Pennsylvania
i know this, even before i get there.
i feel my blood circulating more easily,
the oxygen of the lower, greener land saturates me.

i am tired

of being tired

and wanting. waiting.

its painful to move.

like the day after an accident.

smells make my stomach turn

like its mixing concrete.

maybe i can build a pier

then i could swim deeper without drowning.

and wave to the sail boats.

maybe catch the breeze myself.

Wild W. West

He goes by Wild Wild West

the steed he rides is the handsomest

his mantra is wild freedom

that is his one and only quest

so he rules the wild wild west.

I met mister Wild Wild West

and thought at first my luck had turned fresh

when my optimism was smitten

I found the gun strapped to my chest

I joined mister Wild Wild West.

I watch sir Wild Wild West

in his frustrated happiness

he kept his own till they were bitten

then let the vultures do the rest

this is the wild wild west.

I asked Wild Wild West

how he planned to win his endless quest

he said drink whiskey with your breakfast

and read your mother's letters less!

and you'll rule the wild wild west.

Damn that Wild Wild West

'cause I love my dear mother best

I then saw he was the devil in a wranglers neckerchief!

Damn that Wild Wild West.