Shooting the Shit | Archive 11

OMG, Immersion Delight

by Kathleen Meyer
late July 2012

Miraculous! The old, sacred swimming hole has re-emerged, the one that vanished three years ago when the river changed course. It’s bordered by private property, and there’s NO dog doo to rant about. It’s deeper than before, way over my head. The riparian landscape of familiar banks, swaying grasses and cottonwoods and wildflowers, chirping birds and jumping fish, and glad slants of sun—even at 5:30 p.m.—has everything down to my soul glittering. Immersed with my dear friend, who is dying. We are electric in this moment, humbled and refreshed, in the swimming hole that’s party to all our secrets—twenty-two years of shared traumas and joys and luxuriating. Paradise.

Palms together, I bow to the water. And love my sister. 

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Maybe Basket-Making Will Get Us Through

Our Next First Lady?

Looooooooud for Bernie

Gratitude

Trail Angel on the Wing

Geography of Hope

Winter Wishes

Now, the Audio Book

Ever the Learning Curves

My Holiday Book Pick & Small Biz Shopping

Letter from Spain: Caga and the Camino de Santiago

Introducing Kristine & The Pooster

Letter from Limpopo

In the Know—Mastering and Mentoring

Spring Has Sprung

Who Pooped on My Head?

Goo Patrol

Dazzle Me

Down the River in the La-Z-Boy

Please bare with; I’m in the process of moving the rest of the Archives (below) over to this site and to mobile compatible.

Trail Reads

Running the Gamut

Hints for Hikers

OMG

Heartbreaking, Crap in Paradise

Mushrooms & Bathrooms

Least Publicized Job of Wilderness Rangers

A Short Non-History of Underwear

Poop Can Save the World? You Bet!

What’s Up? A Festival and
FUDs . . .

A Dog Owner’s Shreeek

Giardia, Myth or Mystery?

Jumping Into the Wild

OMG, Immersion Delight

by Kathleen Meyer
July 2012

Miraculous! The old, sacred swimming hole has re-emerged, the one that vanished three years ago when the river changed course. It’s bordered by private property, and there’s NO dog doo to rant about. It’s deeper than before, way over my head. The riparian landscape of familiar banks, swaying grasses and cottonwoods and wildflowers, chirping birds and jumping fish, and glad slant of sun—even at 5:30 p.m.—has everything down to my soul glittering. Immersed with my dear friend, who is dying. We are electric in this moment, humbled and refreshed, here in the swimming hole that’s party to all our secrets—twenty-two years of shared traumas and joys and luxuriating. Paradise.

Palms together, I bow to the water. 

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