Striking a Balance

I have yet to see the shape of our path in the form of a line. I am almost afraid to plot it out, for fear of having no answer to the ever present question: why that route. We were close to the high road of clarity heading out of Minneapolis on highway 94. But the road less traveled, an elusive sense of pioneering, and stalking discovery in places overlooked all lured us south toward the Black Hills of South Dakota. It marked quite a detour and for what precisely I cannot say now. The weather turned sour and we turned back northwest. What do we carry from the energy expended? Some riveting scenery from our wet car windows for sure. The world's largest buffalo. 

There are so many possibilities. Yellowstone or not? Interaction with more people or more nature. The spectacular places come with people. But not always. Part me longs to sit and plot our path, envision its trajectory, say to myself yes, it is wonderful following the footprints of Lewis and Clark. Or the Yellowstone River or the steam of natural hot springs. But another aspect of my personality wants no part of planning, but rather to ride out conditions in the moment, detour on a whim, resist a framework's pressing structure. 

Leila constructed wood post fences with David yesterday, hammering five inch nails through circular cross sections. I drew from the windows of Maire's house trying to scratch out details of deep mountainous space against soft floorboards of her porch.