by Milk Fork
I traveled north on a Friday afternoon
|I arrived at the rock on top of the hill and sat myself down. I didn't really know where I was going when I left the house, but some part of me must have missed Kent Falls, because that's where I ended up—where I am, at this moment, perched above the endlessly pounding water.
It's a mixture of relief and nostalgia, being here again. It must have been 8 years or so. If I saw my 19 year old self here, I'd probably push him over the edge and tell him to "grow up, get a job." All that kind of bitter old man talk that I just can't wait to legitimately spout out from the safety of my front porch and bottle of cheap whiskey. "Youse damn kids!" It's gonna be fun.
Anyway, back to Kent Falls. There's a very holy and uplifting feel here. It's so strong and powerful that it overshadows the dirty discarded panties sitting on the rock across from me, the buried beer cans that refuse to remain hidden, and my own contribution of human urine that I used to tag a tree with. These things are muted by the sun dipping towards the high hills of the valley and deafening sound of water smashing against rock.
The gnats are a bit of a problem. But, supposedly, cigarette smoke bothers them. And it's not like I need a real excuse to smoke one. So I do. The cigarette is lit. So far, so good.
The commotion of the World slips away like an unwanted guest, slowly and with broken pride. Good. Fuck commotion, I say. Be gone with you, I say. And it goes. It is replaced, instead, with those pesky questions of Life. "Who are we?", "What is this crazy maze all about?", "Is it even worth doing or believing in anything?", "Did I leave shit in the dryer?"
They plague me, it's true. Day in and day out, they chase me like the paper boy from Better Off Dead. "I want my two dollars." Well, fuck you sir. I don't have your two dollars or the energy to try and tackle such mind-raping queries. But the questions don't go away. They sit in the back of my head, patiently awaiting my response. Daring me to face my existence, our existence, and make some kind of sense of it. But I won't. Not right now. Because eventually I end up seeing the World with hopeless eyes. Beaten eyes. Fear and confusion. Silent paranoia.
But not now. It's enough, right now, to succumb to the Falls, to take deep breaths and to let them out, to mark the passage of the Sun, to gaze down over the rocks at the land below and imagine there is nothing else. This is a good moment, where time stands still and the truth flows into your mind to wash it of worry. This moment, trapped on paper in a way, is perfect, even if only from my perspective. Nature is the ultimate therapist. And that sumbitch doesn't require money. Just patience and an open mind.
So here I sit on the rock at the top of the hill, wondering why it took me 8 years to return.