A Story Nov 2018

I stare way up through the trees. The sky is up there someplace. My neck stretches long and longer.  Lichens brush past. cedar branches curl and uncurl around my ears. Chickadees surprise out of their nests. Finally my head is above the canopy and then oops. Snaps right off. My neck collapses like a rope dropped off the side of a building. Drapes and loops around the rest of me, way down there on the forest floor. My head goes on slowly whirling across the tree tops and then up into the low clouds, dodging helicopters and geese. The geese swing their heads around to honk and stare at me. Who would have thought I could fly without my body. Im getting too good a view of all the clearcutting. I feel a drowning sadness. I cry and sob, but — not very satisfying without my lungs to fuel it.  I roll my way over to the national park, farther from the tree murders and the cruel racket of the motorcycles, leaf blowers, cement mixers, trucks. Im still wearing my warm hat which is good because wow is that glacial air cold. But I feel wonderfully free and light without my body. Nothing is itchy. My knees dont hurt.  I can see mountain goats and bears, a herd of elk, a few coyotes, an occasional tent. I circle and meander around the meadows and rivers and peaks. It’s gaspingly lovely. But, even this far away, I can hear a distant hum of human activity. And I’m still inhaling the ubiquitous invisibly-poisoned air, though at least it cant give me...