Removed

On a greyhound. To the north, in particular north and west to Minnesota. My bearings are skewed right now as it is dark. Pitch painted masses glide past the window and restlessness takes a hold of my mind once again. Times like these are fruitful mostly for reading, writing, and prayer. Things feel a bit out of kilter right now

Earlier in the trip, the sights took me. There's something thoroughly captivating about the north woods, in my perception. The cabin you can barely see from the greyhound cab is far too exposed as it is. Why? Because seclusion is the name of the game in many of these parts. And what of it? One might polarize two scenarios very easily in a way that pits a desire for seclusion against a love for people. The argument might go along these lines: A desire for seclusion must be wrong because it cannot include a great love for people.

In fact the same argument is turned on its face when one observes the young hermit who drowns out the daily drone of city masses, who has exiled himself from all real community with shallow relationships. Or when otherwise "secluded," quiet, country folk gather regularly in the county hall or at church house and seek community, we could label it as quaint, but what if the true transformation of hearts and minds abounded? Further still, what if they were centered on the proclamation that the power of resurrection redeems simple lives and in turn they use their quiet homes as havens for the lost.

A warm fire, a slow-cooked meal, a fire-side chat: these aren't things to shrug at. Shivering off years of burdens, you're outside with the simple task of gathering firewood to stay warm. The trees make a fitting cover from the cold, bare sky, yet you're shivering, perhaps with excitement. You're grateful to return to warmth and other people, but somehow you are humbled with gratitude for your task with the trees. It's been a while since I've even seen those trees, but I'm just passing through for now.

The soundtrack to much of this: The mix that iTunes Genius made to Matthew and the Atlas' song "To the North." Where you can find an excellent recording: Daytrotter. Bits of Nick Drake here and there, like an old friend, and I've been pretty partial to Horse Feathers in these settings as well.

Greyhounds are quite fun. If you haven't tried one, indulge just once, at least. An elderly chap who sits just in front of me has been of interest at sporadic moments during the trip. He smells like he hasn't bathed for a day or two and he hacks with coughs periodically, but they're the kind of coughs that have years behind them, not necessarily smoke-filled lungs. I asked him about his plans in Minneapolis and apparently he's visiting his ex-wife and will then move on a bit further north to stay with his sister for an extended period. "Family is the best of things for me these days. What about you? You got family, son?" "I do, and I am living with them now." "Well, I guess you'll be wantin' to get off on your own soon, eh? But it's always nice to have family."

All this was spoken with a lisp that I can't quite replicate in print. I should train ear to catch the nuances of such things for future writing. Mental note.

It's now nigh midnight, and still an hour. Needless to say, the further north the better. Here's to the starry hosts in skies untouched by populous electric boxes. Here's to the untamed north, and long may it live as a haven.