Cameron Scott

April reminds me… of jumping the gun.
Breaking through the snow pack.
Of tire patching, lubes, tunes, and gearing-up
in order to hit a ride or two,
only to have local trails fill back up
with mud and snow. Climbing sunny desert outcrops.
Of putting on ski boots, skinning into the back country,
and catching the last of the heavy-wet. Of haircuts,
beard disappearances, and leg shaving.
Of bluebird sky and black sky and sky without a horizon.
Of big rainbows. Of woodstoves. Of dancing. Of shelter.
Of 4 a.m. bike rides. Of all the things I can’t live without.

Some people say that April is the big NO NO! The AH AH! That April makes them
wish they could walk the Pahoehoe, picking guavas, and catching sun and surf.
That it is the awkward silence between March and May meeting on a blind date! The
sesame seed stuck between your front teeth. The chortle. The MC Escher
fluorescent onesey that keeps appearing at Highlands closing. The big freezer! The
lobster tan! The cruelest month. The end of solitude on the Roaring Fork and
Frying Pan. The indoor cat escaping outside and getting clobbered then taken to
the vet and patched back up.

But really, I love April. April is Earth Day, and every day is Earth Day. The hot, the
cold, the skis and the bike tires, the wet suit and the skinny dip, the IPA and the
Blonde, the blue winged olives and caddis popping from rising green rivers like
trout popcorn, indoor terrariums along dusty window sills, of rabbits and tall white
lilies, of green buds covered in frosting, of off season and long road runs.

More than anything, April is crystalline: the freshest, clearest, most awesomest air
we get to breath all year. Just imagine if one day you woke up in Washington,
D.C. Every night you had to go home to a small apartment with no windows turned
to the sky. Every morning you woke up dreaming of mountains. You did sun
salutations, but never saw the sun. Then one day, out of nowhere, you lose it at a
mountain film festival passing through the city. Each film is like a kick to the heart.
Suddenly you realize that home is within: like the Elks, Raggeds, and Holy Cross.
That somewhere out there is the Roaring Fork Valley. A gate, a backyard, and
wind chimes. The good life.

April seems to have extended (some would say overextended) this year with
powder dump after powder dump and storm front after storm front passing
through. And now its May and it is still snowing and people are still skiing and it still
feels like April (some would say February) and the air is still crystalline. This is the
winter that isn’t ending, but suddenly, in a matter of days, it will be over.

5 Point

There is a pagoda on the inside
and a pagoda on the outside
with painted clouds along the top
and more clouds here and there

and beyond the threshold
a temple inside the temple,
and a temple outside the world.

I’m not sure who I could drag through…
I’m not sure myself
what a pagoda is anyway… but let’s go!

Subtitles

One head moves, seven hundred heads move;
back and forth searching for meaning.

Back Home

Watching outdoor films
I’ve never been so certain about certainty
and so uncertain.

Tires part slush, pick up water,
condense then fade over and over.

The lifelines on my palms appear
and disappear like traffic.

A big diesel rolls up to the stop sign and idles.
I’m listening for something else entirely.

Head nodding towards sleep
there is another world beyond this world
and I want give over completely
to what comes next.