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Land...Mark it, fence it, set corner pins, build stone walls, exploit it, kill over it, cherish it, map it, buy it, sell it, cover it with trash, clean up the trash, poison it, mine it, cover it with blood, bury the bones in it, burn it down, plant it, genetically modify it, dig up the past, let its measurement and ownership consume your mind. The fox tail bobs into the ferns. How can I no longer pine to change the woods, to build something here and there, a temple, a cabin, but rather come here carrying nothing, wanting to do or make or capture nothing, to sit still, to be without a plan, without a clock, without a knife, without a connection, without being tracked or measured or calculated? I’ll find the corner pins, I’ll buy this rectangle, I’ll make a law that says no indigenous people shall ever pay a tax, then I will un-occupy this land and it shall be just land, pure land, free of encumbrances and lies and endless payments. All can come to the spring and drink with the deer. All can watch the mist and the light through the beech leaves.

spoonderlust

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