It’s been a little chaotic here lately and as a result i haven’t found the time or energy to write. Denmark is close approaching and i’m excited to be home, im sure you can imagine. Home has been long gone to me for about a year and a half or more. I can’t wait to eat food that i adore, to walk the familiar cobbled streets and walk through thick forests with moss beds as soft as a kings belly. Not many days go by when my brain doesn’t wander home to the Jylland Peninsula and think “what if?”
I love Wyoming and i love Texas, i don’t think Denmark will be where i settle any time soon. Having said that this next holiday will be a good test to see how well we’d like it. Considering we don’t have Basil to come home to we can be gone a little longer, but i’d rather have him and have a short holiday, but life is as life does.
The other day Jack and i took a stroll in a snow fall out on the edge of town. I found my new favourite place to take pictures. If my camera hadn’t died i would’ve taken so many more than i did. The light from the ground and the deep red rocks peeping through at the angles that snow can’t settle — it was stunning. The picture above shows how hard the weather here is one my skin. My skin looks torn and strained; from only being out for around 10 minutes when before it was smooth as could be. Prairie winds are brutal and merciless but strangely comforting nonetheless. You can see how raw my lips look too. I really enjoy portraiture — especially the honest kind. I don’t always want to look pretty — but real. No matter the lines or pain you can see. Lauren Bacall once said that your whole life shows in your face and that you should be proud of it. Thats something i try to remember when i look at all these stereotypically cute portrait people have spent hours over editing. I wont do it. Maybe once or twice but mostly not. I love the honesty behind how some of us look and i think the west has grown on my face like a boil. In the summer i’m stunted in freckles and burns, in the winter? My skin has become frozen to my glasses i can’t feel anything because its so cold.
My spirit flies out on the open prairies of the great American West — whether its hot or weather its the apocalypse. Alone out here i can hear the chanting on the wind and the memories of blood shed and fear crying out to be remembered. Somewhere Calamity is swearing in my ear about some son of a bitch that took her whiskey and Bill Cody is considering me for a comedy act on the back of a mule called Two Foot. And deep out in the abyss of snow and sleet is that spirit horse Bowleg, waiting for me to run with him.
I think i’d better get some rest. I’m awfully tired, i don’t feel like i’ve really even had a weekend!
Be gracious to you fellow man, he’s troubled.