mountain party

I miss Golden, and pissing in the bush. The spontaneous nights must fall upon us again very very soon.
nothing like crisp mountain air filling my lungs as I spin and spin to the bass as the sun comes up.

we walk along the path together always at one point or another, we are always there.
Rocks with me from every place
they guide the path back to where I started.
Solid and permanent they always mark place and time.