He asked me to stay and cook dinner. Kinda hungry, he said. I find myself still brooding. Dark thoughts follow me like shadows, so I walk faster.  Step by step I climb up the grass-coated hillside. Step by step I distance myself from him, and the world centered on him. I don't know where I'm going—keep walking, just keep walking. The world is your oyster. I shake my head, look up, then stop, my breath becoming a thin thread. Then continue, tiptoeing, like approaching a stranger's dream.

 

Looking up from the mid-section of the grass-covered hillside, one dozen or so rectangular rocks arc out along the grassy top, a silent parade. They must be gifts from gods, these giant sandstone rocks, etched out by chisels, stroke after stroke, in the shapes of ancient books—a weighty generosity for eyes that can find them. The sky is a deep blue, a few strands of cloud pinned on it like a white brooch. I stroll over to the nearest rock. Vein-like dark vines sprout from under the bottom and snake to the surface. Tracing the vines, I find myself face to face with an open treasure box—a russet rug woven by lichens and vines, dotted with oval leaves, serrated along the edges like tiny teeth. I resist the temptation to touch it. I wish I could teleport it to my home in Calgary. A facelift for my humdrum life. 

 

They must've been taking their noon nap, these clean-cut, prehistoric rocky behemoths, snuggling cozily in the rolling green, grass tips tinged yellow by the sun, a typical prairie color in Southern Alberta. Some tilt sideways along the spine, a friendly gesture inviting a kindred mind to come over and explore; others lean back reservedly, only revealing a wind-chipped, stratified corner, daring able fingers to turn the pages. I'm alone here. The campground is behind, as well as my "kinda-hungry" husband. 

 

I move to the next rock only a few meters away. Unlike the previous one, this one is dotted with a small tuft of flowery lichen, radiating out from the center. Its yellow brightness, its downy daintiness. I'm a greedy, prosaic-minded mortal. I wish I could pluck it out and pin it to my hair. Stepping into nature's garden unable to own or claim it makes me feel anchorless, like the cloud drifting in the sky. 

 

In front of me nearly every inch of this rockface is coated with colors, twining patterns, a visual alchemy of moss and lichen and unnamable fungi. An ideal picnic table for wood nymphs needing a break from their fruit gathering. Were they drawn by a fastidious artist who deliberated each stroke? Or is it nothing more than some half-hearted doodle by wobbly Dionysus, the painting a tipsy dream? But it's a real dream. It's a howling wind, dancing its wild dance and singing its wild song, sweeping across the rock and plastering its emotions onto the solid chest of nature. Colors with textures clash and compromise. Rusty leaves hug powdery violet discs. Sand-yellow leafless branches thread into a patched pale green that resembles James' rough skin. I touch his skin. Surprising coolness. 

 

I look back toward the tree-lined campground, forever bustling, forever clamorous with needs and naggings. My husband refused to walk with me. He chose to play cards with his new friends, and gave me orders I couldn't make myself obey. I chose to exile myself. Solace is in my kingdom. 

 

How long have I been wandering, me and my mind? There's no one around. I'm the lone outcast in the realm of self. Grasses grow out light shadows, slanting, stretching, words on paper smudged somber.

 

I start back. Grasshoppers dart out from the grass and bounce off against my yellow shirt, perhaps mistaking me for a moving sunflower. Or are they chastening me for him? They shoot up and zip down tirelessly, tut-tutting their disapproval by rubbing their legs against their sandy wings. 

 

The campground emerges. I see again a cluster of massive rocks hanging out on the hillside to my right, tilting downward at alarming angles. 

 

I stop, look up at them, silence in blue; then start the slow trudge, toward my husband's tight-lipped, grim-faced silhouette. 

 

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