Memo from the creek, Christmas 1972.

People often ask what is the appeal of living this way even for short amounts of time. Here my friend Joe May explains it as well as any I have ever seen. It is 10 below at the East Pole and snowing small flakes that I estimate on average are 3 feet apart. For the past two mornings when I have stepped outside in the morning darkness I have heard an owl call. "Who, who" he asks, and I respond softly, "Me, me," and I step out into his world. That's part of "why" too -- Tim

Memo from the creek, Christmas 1972

Here lives a quitter

a non-go-getter
who disenfranchised the world,
by shirking the pace
and blowing the race
into which we're collectively hurled.

Now forests and streams
provide the means
for adequate existence,
with crystal air
providing fare
for breath without assistance.

Telephone rings
and electrical things
are sacrificially nil,
commiserated
but consecrated
by lack of a monthly bill.

Garbage disposers
and pneumatic closers
are subject to cynical mirth,
as social symbols
suspended in gimbals
to minimize human worth.

Through winter's night
and summer light
I've racked my mind in vain,
to comprehend
the insidious trend
toward self destructive gain.

From here it seems
society teems
with astigmatic goats,
whose principle aim
is to eat the frame
and bottom out of their boats.

So guard my friends
until the end
your civilized possessions,
your ulcers and smogs
and traffic clogs
and psychiatric sessions.

And tally time
I'll stake my dime
against your fated liver,
you buy salmon
by the can.....
I own the river.

– Joe May  ©