Sometimes I wonder about the idea of the collective unconscious. Today I arrived home from breakfast to find the New Yorker cover for February 4... a downhill skier making more than tracks, but instead an uncovering of words in his wake. I had written the following reflection before breakfast but had not had time to post it. The skier on the cover faces forward (of course). In his wake, his tracks, are words uncovered, a partial glimpse of what looks to be a New Yorker article. It seems to me it will take more skiers to uncover more. But this skier has begun the process.
I wake this morning
With dreams of tracks
I have yet to make
In front of me.
The final dream of the morning
Showed me a snow-covered road
Into town.
I am the first to drive it.
The road has three inches of new snow
Beautiful white in the morning sun
Completely
Drivable.
In the distance comes
An emergency vehicle
Lights flashing
No sound.
It makes tracks
The other way.
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