gluey feathers on a flume

when i was young my grandparents bought a few acres of land deep in the canyon that runs between montana and wyoming. they built a beautiful log cabin with their hands. they raised horses and grew boysenberries next to the stream that you could see and hear from every window in the cabin.

my family spent some thanksgivings and a christmas or two at the oasis. to get there we had to depart from the already desolate highway and position the tires of our pick-up truck onto two narrow, parallel divots that served as the permanently provisional road. we had to drive down it for an hour, at least, but it was always worth it. i remember when i was twelve and there was so much snow. the snow felt different way out there, not really cold but just clean. modest. i remember walking out into the canyon and seeing a rattlesnake gliding through the frozen thicket. i remember crawling in the caves and discovering tribal etchings on the rock walls. i remember never caring when the snow found its way into my boot, melting in the interstice between my foot and shoe, saturating my sock. i remember my grandmother and how everyone always said i looked like her.

bon iver feels like i felt back then.



with the show only two months away (dec. 14th!!!), you should have anticipated this post. i can't wait. i will go and shut my eyes and just listen. then i will languish all over justin vernon's face.