crash&burn.

This morning I walked out into the pasture, carrying hay to the Equus' stall. On the way back I looked down and there was a small thing, a little grey thing. I scoop it up into my palms and look at it. His eyes are open still, glassy black. I check his neck and body. No blood, no bite that brought the kill. It got too cold last night, maybe. But he only died recently, his tail still is flexible enough that it curls halfway around my wrist. I breathe on the mouse, trying to warm it. Maybe he's not dead. But he is and I bring him home, set him on the front porch chair. I'll bury him tonight.



Then later, when I go to the pond to smoke [DAKLWEJAEAWA], I see something caught in the shallow end. It flops all over, tangled in the plants, being pulled back into the wet mud. I reach in and pick it up, a fish the side of my hand. It's round and blue with small silver eyes. For a minute I think of one time when I was little that I caught a little, tiny one in my grandma's pond and let the water drain from my hands. I stared at it while it flopped, not registering that it needed to go back in. I knew it needed water, I was old enough to understand, but I let it gasp in my palm until it stopped moving. Then I freaked out and plunged it back into the water, held it in my hand underwater. It started moving a little but then it died. I killed the little fish. I don't kill this fish, this round blue one, I throw it back into the middle of the water as soon as I have it.
I killed something.

I'm in one of those moods where everything seems signifigant, everything has meaning. Mice and fish have meaning. The forest breathed today, in and out around me. I want to be in the ocean right now. I want waves crashing around me, almost knocking me down.
Last time I was in the ocean I was with The Friend. She stayed on the shore and I swam out, running into waves at first and soon I was floating. I want to go back to floating, the way you're helpless and colored-pale blue in the water, the way you can taste brine on your tongue. That trip tasted like Diet 7-Up and brine and like seaweed.
I miss The Friend. We were pulling apart before I left but now that I've moved it's like we don't even exist in the same reality. I wish I knew how to be the person I was when we were really close again. It's weird, she's like my sister but she really doesn't know anything about me. I love her but it seems like if I were myself she'd be hurt.
 
Rambleramble.