In college we used to play a verbal game where we tried to decide what a particular friend was in terms of a food, or an animal, or a season. We really did have a hall mate that was lemon jello. And one of my best friends was the ferret. The trouble with that game was that the comparisons, if aptly made, stuck. And somehow I find my subconscious mind still playing the game.
Marc was fall. His birthday was the end of September when the mountains of New Mexico put on their grandest show and we traditionally rode the Cumbres and Toltec narrow gauge railroad over the mountains to see the color. Or drove up to Pagosa Springs, Colorado. I thought of both as a way of saying goodbye. His wife chose to not have a memorial service here and I am not the only one of his friends hanging in limbo. Both trips seemed to long and I could not see myself doing them alone.
Fall lingered, way longer than is normal, as if waiting for me to make a decision of how to let him go. Yesterday I had to go to the dentist in Questa, where Marc and I had lived together, and I took the camera to avoid all the memories. I hide behind my camera at times. I take it to social events where I don't really want to mingle and appoint myself instead as official photographer. Yesterday it just became a focus on all the memories. You cannot move forward until you let go of the past.
|Wheeler Peak through the Aspens|
|The colors of fall|