I took my love and took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in a snow covered hill.
'Til the landslide brought me down.
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life?[link]
Bush covering Fleetwood Mac's - Landslide
a little bit before sunrise in the mist covered hills of my youth... the place where I "grew up" so to speak. My Parents accepted long ago that when I visit, I will disappear into these hills a fair amount of the time. to say the area is rural is an understatement. some might say we didn't have much to do. I am pretty sure I voiced the same lament on occasion myself. In retrospect I was wrong. my retreats were my books and these hills... with the time to indulge in both.
if you wish to picture the locals and the little towns that dot these hills... imagine a NC-17 Andy Griffith Show's
Mayberry with the occasional Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil
incident thrown in just to fuck with everyone's head. alol, needless to say, my free time was spent in the woods. they were usually easier to understand and began just across the street from my house. it was a spectacular playground. I hunted, fished, camped, and learned to move silently through them. about that time I hung up the guns for the camera. (no sport in it... there has to be sport) I explored every inch until I knew every inch. this included the stories and the histories.
this is one of my favorite places. I've tried shooting it tons of times to no avail. I like this one. it's a beautiful spot and I look out and see nothing but the stories. these are the Cookson Hills of far eastern Oklahoma. to the left of the far ridge was the western most settlement of the Mississippian Mound Builders. the Choctaw People were moved to these very hills on the trail of tears. to the left, a few miles up river, Cherokee Confederate forces sank a Union paddle-boat in the civil war. outlaws hid here in Indian Territory Days. Judge Parker, The Hanging Judge, sent his Marshals into these hills. I've pulled crappie out of these waters by the basket full... they're yummy, just two filets with fins. a little off frame to the right I pulled my best friend up out of a muddy bar ditch late one night after a fight with his girlfriend and a bottle of cheap gin. (both of which he lost.) I can remember counting the innumerable stars by the light of the campfire while listening to the lies of my buds and the bells on the tip of the catfishing rods.
that's why I always go back and drive these hills. the land retains the stories, the histories and the memories. it sings them. And I saw my reflection in a snow covered hill...
I suppose to know where one's going one has to know where he's been...and right now I am off to the new year (and catching up here)... may yours brings good light, fun and smiles.
if you turn around and go west a few miles to the other side of the ridge you are here.