Marisi
Ornstein
Will rolls up to his family’s Territory with Kennol asleep in the passenger seat.
He slows the Dragon as he passes Scratch, hands him his chew on the fly, and drives on down his road. When he reaches an expansive area with a large airplane hangar and airstrip, he settles the Dragon and lets Kennol sleep.
Will walks into the hangar, throws a tarp off his Triumph, kicks up the engine and takes a shortcut into the hills.
His head lulls back as he flies through the desert, feeling refreshed, filled with a sense of calm in his core, both foreign and familiar at the same time.
Will quiets the bike and walks up an ancient footpath to high ground, where he sits on a rock overlooking his Territory, as far as he can see.
Checking the sunset against his Oyster Perpetual, he reaches into his boot for his knife with the heavy wooden handle and carefully runs his thumb over the initials carved by his ancestor long ago, but never far away.
Running his thumb softly over the blade, he draws a small amount of blood and massages it between his fingertips like ointment.
Will sheathes the knife, glancing up to twelve hawks flying interweaving patterns high above.
He gazes to the dry lightning in the distance, soothed by a fresh wind rolling him back to where it all began.
Taking in as much desert air as his body can hold, he slowly exhales, releasing everything standing in the way of a simple route forwards.
Will closes his eyes and breathes deep and deeper, letting the psychedelic sunset illuminate the veins in his eyelids, turning them into roads, expanding and intersecting off into the kaleidoscope horizon, open rolling and flowing, free as rivers, wherever the fuck they want to flow.
... To Be Continued.
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