In Montanna

By Alex Haft

The clouds moving as little bits god’s spit when they're far away in the panorama of silence; beyond the ridge of snowcapped mountain, a long black arrow at the top, them moving forward like clipper ships fast behind. 

Far away mountains turn to water unsupplicated from earth. They turn to mist in open dustwet echelons. Maybe 7-8 peaks, ridged between me and that massive snowy far one: black butte, or hollowtop or elkhorn, past ’69 Cardwell. 

She reaches for people she’s not close to anymore. It is so much windier up here than down ther. My shoes are justfabric weave footwraps, floopy rubber Theyre wrapped-around, and tied onto my foots. Shadowcloud Chase mi on desolate plains 100 yrs before civilization

-。－； 

Illimitable on terrain. Ever float just off the ground nd not get cold and just vibrate? Like  10,000 miles of sagebrush? U evr swished over evrything w/o touching and w/o  obstacles & pass thru like A cloud’s shadow? 

Property is made up like u can conceive of anything. Right now if u wanted to  make it. But why would I ever think: ‘this is mine’? I have to jump over fucking fences, and why should I look oer my shoulder to check if ‘owners’ can c. Are the length of my  footprints a crime?  

I hop another fence, (not sure into or out of some property), and see a new  mountain past the green whipping flat grass. A pheasant flew past me and ran into the woods. There is a strange almost footpath cut thru here. After walking for a long while the mountains swim and recede. (Elk run from shadows of great white bodies, black on  the ground)… I’d take this northern route because its good to explore and see things,  and i was suspicious of that fastest greenline crossing because theyd probobly be satelliting me. 

And she stood on dead branches with heels on rocks. Scramble on boulderfaces to chase after some marmots in fissures.

I had to run to the next mountains— jumping down grass into the sworl of loom  mountain approaches yet stayed far away and indrifted slowly back to the direction of  sky… The wind fleecing in my ear— is so loud and i scream and can’t hear myself. I’d walked from there but now was heading back to my car-home I walk past the staring cows with eartags, over the creeks, aft on two fences, and showed up a little awkwardly in someones driveway... As I make for the golden fence and jump it. Worry about if the blinds will move. Back on the street I start unsticking the seed barbs from my pants, and now it’s just another day in civilization. Rounding the street on my hot flat fleet that  palmed the road, pulling the bag strap close. I started the car in the sweltering sundown when it magnified into my windshield, and then blow up everhung dustbeam hot on evething. 

In cities and suburbs, every thing and all places and areas mapped in the many  directions; youre in a living physical waking memory just now being reconstructed for  perception. I entered back into it’s light and color dots: the halo of an eyelid’s grid: glittering steam rising of it’s grates and trusses. 

The cityscape came up out of a blue fawn’s eye. Theres eyes fleared over all it. Lines ticking yellow breaths under searing cold windbrace— huffin in white scattered  expanse of my breathing in butterflies there. 

The coming night brought me to sleep in a rain sack hammock under sworling trees hufphing expansions in wispcloud under breathing stars. Pulling on tall grass, swish and rock until my headlight dimmer went out. 

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Alex Haft is a 29 year old author based in Chicago. For the past ten years, they have gone between working as a wilderness laborer in trails, wildland fire, and conservation, and a Youth Empowerment Specialist at a youth homeless shelter in Chicago, with alternating summers spent as a wilderness Canoe Guide. Navigating the between welcoming, freeing natural public wilderness spaces, and places off-limits to those who do not own property, has been at the core of their adult life, as well as their writing.