Springtime Calls

It's springtime. The air warms up nicely each day. Billowing clouds of white drift their way across the horizon, wandering eastward and south, away from the Rockies, across the wide prairie. The birds chatter and chirp in my tree, battling for a mate, squabbling over territory, poking away at the pine cones hung thick and ponderous from needled branches. It's almost an obscenity, all the creatures of the field seeking mating partners; it's like on big giant animal orgy.

Road trip season is almost upon us. I think about it, about heading off in my truck, about wandering the roads of northern Saskatchewan and Manitoba, making the high trek to Flin Flon and Thompson over roads rarely traveled by any but the most hardy. There's nothing much up there but moose and mosquitoes. Yet that very wilderness appeals to me, the fact that so few go there is enticing.

Alas, while my intellectual self dreams of this adventure, my body is failing me. I think about the road trip, but my emotional and physical state are fighting me. I cannot get excited for the idea. Even the excitement takes too much out of me. I want to go, but I don't want the difficulty that comes along with the idea. I don't want the exhaustion of transfers, the fight for motel rooms that work with a wheelchair, the struggle to do something as simple as putting gas in my truck.

It's not fair. Once, just a few short months ago, I could do these things easily. Just a couple of years back, I not only had the ability, I had the money too. Before that, I had the strength, the money, and, thanks to some very fortunate career choices, the time. Now I have none of this. I think I can still travel alone; I want to try it while Katherine is in Hong Kong, to see what I can handle. But the excitement, the desire, the thrill, it all seems to be leaving me.

I'm reaching the end of this part of my life, or perhaps I've reached it already, my body willing to give it up but my spirit still fighting, my mind unwilling to accept this new reality of being home-bound. I don't want to be here. I still want to go, to see, to explore. I'm not ready to give up, to die. I want to see the open road once more, to see the distant mountains reaching before me, to smell the scents and hear the sounds of the forest, the prairie, the hills.

I want to go on the road. I don't want it to be so hard. It's calling me, like a forbidden lover, promising so much, taking so much for the promise. It calls me, demanding that I try, punishing me for the attempt. It calls me, bringing me joy, causing me pain. It calls me, costing all that I have, returning only memories, radiant, resplendent, visceral, vibrant. It calls me. Can I go?