Right now I have a multiplicity of things on the melon, and I'm moving as slow as a narcoleptic after a tab of lithium. So I will distract myself by writing this, so i can brood on the main.

Went to Mc Donalds today, up at Lake Dillon. A storm was piling up, and attempting to take the ridge on the western side of town. It made a cascading storm that couldn't break the pass, and we were all bathed in perfect sunlight.

I admired the beauty.

As I pulled into the parking lot, avoiding the guy vigorously doing tai chi with his dog lounging to the side, I thought breifly about the memorial to the girl who killed herself, wondering what I would feel, and if I would embarassingly talk to the statue again.

Its okay, really, there's no one around.

It amuses me, but I feel freaky about it. I'm not sure what I believe about that stuff, Part of me views it in a morbidly mocking way, and part of me wonders about the truth of it all. Does her spirit, soul or essence, whatever, still linger, or is this simply a product of a grieving process gone wildly bad, compounded by her mothers guilt?

"My baby...what did I do...my baby...what did I do wrong?...my baby"

I don't know.

I do know its one of the best vistas around, for me anyway, drive up, and a five minute walk, if that. The sunsets, and that old cascading snowstorm looked like a reminder of the good and the beautiful, the perfection of form, God, whatever you want to call it, SOMETHING was there.

And then what about the statue? Did her mother's constant greiving tug her soul here? Was this where she liked to hang when she was alive?

I pictured her stranded in her own private hell, lost in the morose sorrow that led her to this deed, watching the view, and the days fly by, without her moving or batting an eye. To her its all one, and cannot distract herself from her despair.

Occaisonally, her mother comes by, and maybe she notices...maybe not.

Maybe she doesn't notice, and these are the days mom holds it together, without bawling vociferously in public.

But just maybe...mom sidlies up, cooing about her lost girl...and she notices. Just a bare flicker of attention. And mom breaks under the strain of her greif, and wails like a lost soul.

She berates the statue, like a parent still trapped in the cycle that killed her girl.

"You, know, you've just gotta' lift yourself up from this, karen."

I think her name was karen.

And maybe karen turns slowly....ever so slowly...to look at mom, and mom once again folds under the strain.

The closer I get, the colder and harsher the wind gusts.

"Awwww. Yer cold, aren't you sweetheart."

I had a feeling of dread.

I felt like she knew I was there.

Barely. just barely.

As I approached, the wind blew harder, and harder still when i lit up the customary tokes for the fallen.

Something about this disturbed her, I felt. Maybe it was me that felt like it was disrespectful, but only here, and lots of morbid tokes elsewhere have come before this.

I left, due to the cold, muttering...

"You are not alive...not in the flesh and blood sense, anyway. Accept it."

But y'know, it' probably just be a statue.

Maybe its all me.

I don't give a fuck.

But, y'know, what if it isn't?