When entering the Gorge, leave behind all preconceptions. Let yourself be carried off on a stream of consciousness that tickles the heavens as readily as it grinds down stone.

That Time


It’s that time of day,

that time of year when

all you fear comes to life.

It’s that time of night,

that time of anxiety and

fright that make you wonder

what’s in store when the lights go

out and the sounds trickle and fade away.

It’s that time – the moment when everything

declares itself, when everything one dreams

and dreads, everything one has borrowed,

stolen, returned, learned, relearned,

craved and mourned and glorified,

everything comes alive under the

light of a shooting star in the

wake of a long trajectory.

It’s that time,

that time in time,

that time in one’s life

when the living resemble

the dead, when the carrion sac

is stuffed with minutes that cannot

escape, that cannot spill out and slip

through the screaming, heaving cracks.

It’s that time in time when time stops.

Plenty of chance and promise lying

around – promise always does.

Welcome to the end of the line.

The time of crushing despair.

This is where everything begins again, afresh.