I saw Moses in the Catskills at a place called "North Point," a high, flat surface of rock that looks out over the Hudson and some lakes that go by simple names like "North" or "South." He was wearing a Yankees shirt and he'd shaved the gray hair on his head and face down to rough stubble. At first I didn't recognize him, but his clear blue eyes—so much like the sky that day, so much like the luminous optimism I'd begun to feel—they were unmistakable.

I said: "You."

He said: "I knew I'd find you here."

In a way, so did I. I always find something when I'm out here. I always find it because I'm not looking for it. Because I'm preoccupied with the here and the now. The doing. The shaking, shivering this. Temporarily sheltered by this enterprise of movement and exercise. My mind happily crippled by a kind of purposeful short-sightedness. I'm guarded with my sanity. And tight-lipped and stoic toward the everyday shit that normally robs me of it. That's when I'll see it. Or that's when it'll see me. I'm never sure which.

Honey was happy to see Moses. Her back formed that c-curve of euphoria. She became her tail wag: an indecent paroxysm of happiness. Her ears folded back close to her head, she hopped and danced and slapped Moses on the legs with her front paws. When she's in this state of heightened excitement, she lets out small pleading whimpers, high-pitched and urgent. Like she will at any moment explode from elation.

It is a great thing to be greeted like this, with this kind of canine orgasmic hullabaloo. But I wouldn't want it from people. I'm suspicious of humans who are this transparent with their emotions. It makes me instinctively reach for my wallet.

Moses said he had spent the night out here, and that he was heading back the way I'd just come. I pretended I was continuing on so we wouldn't have to entertain thoughts of walking together.

Moses carried his tent and other gear on his back—not in the bed of his truck, the way I'd transported mine to my crowded campground. He'd only brought what was absolutely necessary. A bed. A basic shelter. I suddenly felt embarrassed by my pansy-ass car camping and how Moses didn't seem concerned about not bringing a cooler full of beer with him. Fucker. He probably started a fire with his bare hands. Or his breath. Or by banging his huge testicles against his thighs like thunder claps.

I don't know what somebody like Moses wants from a guy like me. I don't know why he keeps seeking me out. Or why he keeps allowing himself to be found. (I'm not sure which...maybe there's really no difference.) I don't know why I feel compelled to listen to the things Moses says. Or why the things he says seem to make so much sense. I think it's his unquestioning eyes more than anything. The way they seem to understand the simple hardness of the earth and the clear blueness of the sky.

We stood there for a little while. We squinted at the Hudson in the distance and we breathed the air which tasted like the sun. I offered him some gluten-free trail mix and he palmed a handful and brought it to his mouth.

He chewed, and he said: "The sky is always there. You don't need to be way up here to see it."

I nodded. I said: "It's harder down there."

He said: "I don't get why you won't let go."

I said: "I don't get how that's all you do."

Category: Moses