an ode to Christopher McCandless

so, preface this poem with this scenario:

i ended up sleeping in near freezing weather with my dogs last night. it was frigid, humbling, and a delightful honor. luckily, i had already lit a small fire with a dwindling torch and damp tinder, as well as unloaded my firewood, sleeping bag, a tarp, a pillow, my dogs, and eaten the wings i had just cooked before leaving i even managed to have my THC vape pen in hand, and left a[nother] lucky window cracked so i could hook my keys this morning... before i locked myself out of my car last night, about 50-60 miles from home.

you might say, "#that'ssoChristopherMcCandless"

in a strange twist of irony late last night, i found myself thinking the same, after penning this silly tease not even a day before. there was definitely frost on my sleeping bag this morning, and i shall take my humble pie chilled, but not frozen.

enjoy,

jason

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i wrote a diddy

an odd ode, really

for a late, adventuring sort

Christopher McCandless

he went to quick into the cold

challenging too deep

too straight

too fast

into the finale

of all other frontiers

into Alaska, my heritage

it smells like the sea

smells like home

like a thousand things

feeling the gravity

of the cold

all at once

feels like changing

feels like watching autumn fall

punctuating unnecessary things

and so, i live on

to tell tales

of when he learned

nothing stays

long in the cold, unprepared

when Christopher was lost

reclaimed, eaten by the wilderness

from the cold outside his soul

he did not know

those darkest nights

are so unforgiving

or to be ready for how

deep you take flight into absences