

In that light, I shouldn't be too upset that the DMV ate up a few hours of my day. But I still wonder about how important, or not, our lives are to each other.
Sometimes you have to make journeys that are hard. There are all kinds of hard journeys. This one isn't as hard as most. Your greatgrandfather walked through a vast hunger. My grandfather watched his people vanish before his eyes. Your son will have a hard journey. My daughter is on a hard journey. But we make our journeys. We have no choice. We can't hide from who we are. That's no life at all. You know that. --Brian Doyle, Mink RiverThe immediacy of loss is searing, and I had purposely scheduled my final journey away from my final time with Ben via rail, hoping that the length but security of the tracks would give me time to process. More time to cry when you are on a train for half a day instead of on a plane for an hour. I had no room for airports or NYC or security checks. We got up so early that the moon and stars greeted us this morning for the long drive south, but the sun rose by the time he dropped me at the station. It took three trains to get home, and I shuffled between crying, reading a mediocre book, and staring out the window. The last one was good, since I was so mesmerized by the growths in the trees that I couldn't comprehend, saddened by the takeover of huge swaths of water by organisms that aren't very good for it, and soothed by the river, trees, sky, movement. I have already started to book myself to go out and work and socialize, starting tomorrow morning, but that is no guarantee that I won't cry while doing all of those things. This year is worst on my record since 2005, or 1998/9, or whenever. I know people live through relationships all the time, all stages of them, but I really dislike the ends of them.
I'll tell you about Asin. Did I ever tell you about Asin? She is the wild woman of the woods. It's an old story of the People. My mom used to tell me about Asin. Asin couldn't bear being married or having children or having friends. She always wanted to run wild. She ran wild through the woods. If you saw her running you had to run to water as fast as you could and drink or her restlessness would come into you like a thirst that could never be quenched. She was happy and unhappy. She had wild long hair and she was very tall and she ran like the wind. When you saw dunegrass rippling in a line she was running through it. When the wind changed direction suddenly that was Asin. She was never satisfied or content and so she ran and ran and ran. She would grab men who were fishing alone and make love to them and throw them down on the ground and run away weeping. She would grab children who wandered too far alone in the woods but she would return them to the same spot after three days and run away again. She would listen to women talking by the fire or working in the village or gathering berries but if they invited her to join them she ran away. You could hear her crying sometimes when the sun went down. She wanted something but she never knew what it was so she had nothing. She was a free as anyone ever could be and so she was trapped. When I was young I wanted to be Asin. Many times I wanted to be Asin and just run free. Run away. Sometimes I still want to be Asin. So do you, Nora. I know. It's okay. It's alright. My sweet love. Poor Asin. Sometimes I think that to be Asin would be the saddest thing in the world. Poor thing. Poor Nora. It's alright. I'm here. Alright. --Brian Doyle, Mink River