For the Lyric Wheel-Autumn 2005 And the Fault is All My Own The Lyric Wheel, Second Edition – Fall Holidays/Labor
Day I’m sure Methos has moments, though he would probably deny them, when he morns the loss of his early years and the people he knew. And The Fault Is All My Own… I can see both the lakes and the tree line from here. There are clouds gathering below me and the setting sun glances off the glaciers above me like a golden lance. The leaves are changing and the colors ripple in the evening winds. Autumn… I’ve been to Mt. Rainier before, high places fascinate me. They always have. I’ve hiked in the Himalayas for years, long before the fancy tents and oxygen tanks became the norm. Died there, too. Several times. Tibet is harder to get into these days and yak butter… fresh isn’t too bad, but I always seem to get the last of the bowl. The Inn at Paradise is closing for renovation at the end of the month. I’ll probably stay a couple of days until then. Oh, I have the sleeping bag and even an air mattress, but sleeping indoors has its points and the food is good. Is that important? Hell yes. I’ve done with the hair shirt stuff. I like good beer, good wine and good food. Paris used to have the best… It used to have a lot of things. Getting morose in my old age. Paris… Joe’s back here in Seacouver, at the club. He doesn’t know where Mac is. No one knows where Mac is. He vanished after he took Connor home. Usually I can locate him, just for my own peace of mind, and Joe’s of course. Who am I kidding? I need to know where he is, that he’s still alive… that there’s still a chance. I tried to locate him, but, even though he doesn’t do it often, he’s not an amateur at the disappearing game. No activity on the credit cards I know about and he’d be appalled at how much I do know about his finances. I checked global hot spots, knowing that the “white knight” thing could easily drag him into war, pestilence, famine and disaster. Could he have changed his name this time? This trail is high enough that I’m alone. There are several camping areas, but I can’t hear anyone nearby. MacLeod would have loved this. It would have been the perfect excuse to invite him along. He’s better at the woodsman stuff than I am. For me it was only a way to survive. Like everything else he does, he learned the basics and perfected them. Good way to survive for one of us, of course. I just happen to prefer cities most of the time Just as well I couldn’t find him to talk him into it. He’s made me look at the world again. The downside to that is that I get lost in the nothingness inside of me. I can’t live up to what he thinks I should be. Not many illusions on that account now, I guess. Kronos was always something of a “wake-up” call. Being near Mac reminds me that there really are heroes in the world. Then I remember I’m not the heroic type and run. So here I am, just stuck, hollow and alone, and the fault is all my own. I should go back to see Joe. He’s not getting any younger and I could probably be useful there. Useful? I’m not particularly useful. Unless you consider keeping the bar solvent when I DO pay my tab, useful. Traveling is a way of keeping people at a distance. I'm not the only person with these things in mind, inside of me… needing to escape. Walking back down the trail to the Inn, I stop more than once to look around me. There are others on the trail now, hikers, families spending the last weekend before school starts together. I wonder why they still stick to the agricultural year for school. There’s really not much sense to it now. The kids were needed on family farms, but… not many of those left, either. There’s a couple ahead of me, arms around each other’s waists, walking in step, paying no attention to the world around them. Alexa and I walked like that. She was so very alive. Her memory is still comforting me. One thing I did right, anyway. I’m alone. Not unusual, very few of us have much in the way of families. Sometimes I’ve married and raised the children. It’s been a long time though. There’s always the pain of losing them, and you always lose them… God, what’s wrong with me? Autumn? The last burst of beauty before the world dies and winter comes… There’s a little girl ahead of me. Her father is trying to keep her out of the woods and the little glacier stream. Her feet are wet and he finally laughs and just picks her up, paying no attention to muddy sneakers on his parka. His wife is trying to identify the leaf her son picked up. She looks at it, but shakes her head and tells him to put it in his backpack and they’ll look it up when they get home. Home… There’s another trail and I turn off. Eventually this leads to the “Grove of the Patriarchs” and maybe that will help me put things in proportion. There’s a silence here. It’s a thing unto itself, a live something that sooths me, somehow. Maybe this is where I belong, among the oldest of the old… I sigh and shake my head. For an Immortal, that frame of mind can be fatal. Where is MacLeod? Damn it, Methos, get over it. He’s away, somewhere, trying to heal, trying to make some sense of things and doesn’t need the world’s oldest pain in the ass to play Master Cynic for him. I sit on the edge of the walkway they’ve constructed to keep people from messing up the fragile environment of the rainforest. The rail is poking me in the back but I don’t want to move from here. The light is changing as the sun sets and it returns this place to a primal mystery. Mysteries… ancient and modern. So many mysteries. “Sir? I can’t let you stay here. Do you have a campsite or are you staying somewhere?” A Park Ranger… “I have a reservation at the Inn. Sorry, I must have dozed off.” “Easy to do here. These guys are kinda comfortable, once you get to know them.” “Comfortable?” “Sort of like your grandfather. They can take time to sit with you. Listen to you.” I never knew my grandfather… “They are beautiful.” “I’m heading back to the Ranger station. Can you find your way to the Inn? “Yeah, I follow the trail to the right.” “Got a flash light?” I pulled it out of my backpack. “Yeah, no problem.” He waves and leaves me standing there. I can see the trail marker and head back to the Inn. The walk takes longer than I thought and I find myself starting at shadows. Alone in the dark, everyone’s favorite nightmare, five or five thousand, there are ghosts in that darkness. I have too many ghosts to be comfortable in the darkness in the woods. Finally I could see lights, and then the Inn. I shiver, aware for the first time just how spooked I’d been. I ordered dinner and sat over it for a long time. The wine was local and I took my time. Why had all these old, long buried fears, arrived to plague me now? There aren’t many people in the lobby now. Too late for most of them and it’s cold enough that the decks are clear of everyone but a few die-hards, smokers, most of them. I smoked a pipe many years ago, but the lady I was interested in didn’t like it. Eventually, I decided I liked her less than I thought I did and I wandered off to Germany. Heidleburg hadn’t changed a lot. That’s what this place reminds me of, I guess. Timber and stone buildings looking like they’ve been here forever… Fall festivals with the huge amounts of food and beer, getting the crops in and staying to drink and dance, good times. Suddenly, all I want is my bed. The room is small. The window looks out over the parking area but the sky is still clear and the stars are out. Laying here, I can hear the echoes of people laughing and telling stories about those same stars. Tales of heroes, tales of the ancestors… The stars move in their dance … The quilts are warm… The warmth fades and I’m walking through a fog, I can’t see much, but I can hear swords… I need to hurry, Mac is out there alone, and I have to get there before he lets O’Roarke … No, O’Roark is dead. “Mac?” “Methos? What are you doing here?” “Where’s here?” “Look around you. Where do you think you are?” There’s not much light. There are clouds all around me. I can hear footsteps… “Mac?” “What are you looking for, Methos? Who are you looking for?” I try to walk toward the sound of his voice, but I’m stumbling, tripping on the uneven ground. I kick something and it bounces up, a skull… I can’t see where I’m walking so I kneel, to look. There are bones everywhere. There’s blood, too. I can smell the burnt copper and iron. It isn’t something new… “Mac?” There’s nothing moving now. Am I alone here, with all the bones and the blood? There are other smells, sulfur, swamps filled with rotting meat, feces, urine and cold stone… a wind blows the stench in my face and I cough, trying not to vomit. I try to breath through my mouth, but it doesn’t help. My hands are black, I’m holding a sword but it’s not the one I know. It feels off balance. Why do I have a sword? This is a dream. It has to be a dream. There are other voices, now. I can’t make out what they’re saying, there’s anger there. Who are these people? What do they want from me? I want to heal, I want let go of the pain I've felt so long… My legs are sinking in the fields of bones. I try to spread my arms, but the sword catches on another skull. I can’t get free, I’m fighting but I can’t get away! Falling… My knees hurt and I’m cold… Then, I’m standing there,
barefooted and freezing. The black moods don’t come on me often.
That’s more Mac’s style, but this… This is a harsh,
clawing cold, deep in my bones and I need … I need MacLeod. I need
his certainty that life can go on. Somewhere, I belong, but it isn’t here. I need to breakaway from myself, the man I was. Maybe Joe has heard something. Maybe Mac has come back. All I know is that I have to find my way. I need to be with people who care, even after they know me. I’ll head back. Somewhere, that’s where I belong. _______________________________________ Somewhere I Belong" by Linkin Park
. |