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dimanche 11 mai 2014

Letters from the Northern Lands


My Love

I have arrived in the land of elks. As I did, the sun hid it's shining face behind racing clouds, herded along by harsh winds. I have not walked far yet, for I was still tired and arrived late. But tomorrow I hope to be well rested, and make up for lost time.
Or should I say lost distance, for time eludes me here, as I have no watch, and I would be hard pressed to tell the difference between a darker cloud and the few hours when the sun is hidden beneath the horizon and the light is slightly dimmer. Yes, I am lost in time. What a strange feeling. Seldom do we get this chance, and I intend to experience it to the fullest. I should not squander such a rare opportunity.
With the monotone light of the grey clouds, and the ever present lichen, the land here seems dead, and timeless too. It is not so, I know, for many plants and animals grow and thrive here. But for me so it seems. Every time I stop for a short break, I feel the weight of isolation and loneliness, of the cold, barren wilderness weight down on me.
But a good soldier does not stop nor drop. A good soldier keeps walking, and does not listen to the agonizing screams of pain from his mistreated body. A good soldier, not to fight in any stupid war of nazis against nazis. No. A soldier to fight for myself, against myself. March on, trooper !
Yet even as I sit alone in my modest tent, writing to you with loving intent, I do have company. Mosquitos.
Flying around trying to find a way in, trying to find a nice spot to suck, or sitting contently on my tent-wall, their little bellies red. Red with fresh, warm blood. My blood.
Truly, mosquitos are the nazis of the elk-lands. Not content to suck on lovely plants, as they are wont to do when no one is around, and as is enough for them, they attack me without mercy, not caring for the harm they cause. All for a little personal gain. Smelling their prey from far away, they are relentless, and do not care even for their own lives. Stupid little twats. They shall learn to fear me yet.
Ah, my Love, the solitude. It makes you do strange things, and have thoughts even stranger still. We do not realize how much we value company until it is gone. But there is need for more than that to make me turn around. I need to know, to see for sure, what it is that lies beyond. How long before my spirit breaks ? How many days might it well take ?
I will march on, I will find out,
what loneliness is all about
And until I know, and without doubt,
I shall march on, tall and stout.
The fear, the pain, the love, the hate,
I shall experience every state,
No longer part the bad from good,
Not doing as the christians would,
The world for me a playground still
and I will gladly foot the bill.


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