Autumn Blur

Days passing like framed blurs of autumn out the car door window,
suggestive of the way to a death that is really just life hibernating in the frozen cold depths of looming winter,
I press my cheek to the cold that transfers from outside to within,
watching the cinema whirl of images that are pressed as if to convey
a certain something
just outside of the frame of reference,
waiting for a winter that will not affect me,
because I am leaving you, Tahoe.
I am leaving the snow bound pine trees and still mirrored blue skies of lakes, the cutting sierra wind over ridges, the midnight pagan jeers of packs of coyotes, the dumpster rumblings of your displaced bears, the meth and alcohol addictions of your youth, the snowboarder bum idols of your winters, the South American Heavenly workers, the Eastern European card dealers and taxi drivers, I am leaving.
I am going to where there will be no snow, no winter, no corporate ski resorts, no sucker casinos.
And I’m going to miss your dense tinderbox ridgelines of trees, and your multitudinous desolate lakes, and the skin cutting sunshine even in the midst of powder packed snow depths. I take with me my memories of friends, death defying hikes, full moon rye whiskey tequila sodden nights stumbling in the wilderness, drumming by the waterfall, casino club dollar drink dancing, sandwiches and Boont at Divided Sky, biking 9 bumpy miles to and from work in the summer, walking 30 minutes through the red dawn black ice to take the BlueGo to Stateline to work at a ski resort in the winter, my old Subaru sliding sedately on the one-lane rollarcoaster curves on Fallen Leaf Road in the morning like a skiier, all of these memories I take with me and hold dear, but I will not miss you, Tahoe. No, I will not really miss you. It is time, it was time a long time ago, for me to move on. And so now, finally, I am moving on, looking forward to the future, bundling up my history here with you and packing it up into small boxes and renting a minivan to drive it all on back home to San Diego, where it can sit and collect dust while I’m away somewhere in another country, enjoying a winter without snow, without snowboarders, without the English language. So long, Tahoe.


Author: manderson

I live in NYC.

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