Hindsight Homelessness… Recovery

Staring beyond the tall pine and dense foliage, I watched the traffic moving along the busy interstate. I’ve been in this position before, wondering if an unknown passenger was staring back at me, caught between a dream and reality. I imagined so many passengers have gazed into those thick trees, beyond me, beyond time- and within seconds they were gone, chasing destinations, like a passing wind blowing through the woods pursuing a placid peace. The scene, to them, soon becomes captured in a side view mirror, disappearing with forward motion.

The birds continued to flutter and chirp- lingering just above my head. Would they miss me? Would they even know I was gone?

Returning to the camp I had spent fourteen months building, I sat in my familiar chair and scanned the paradisiacal surroundings. It was a beautiful day, almost surreal. Nature stared back, and I thought I could hear a slight voice from her, caught in a cool breeze . . . don’t forget me.

I won’t. I will never forget. You were my blanket, covering me from the world- easing the pain caused by a blighted past.

As I sat in the comfortable camping chair, each season passed through my thoughts- especially those cold winter days and stormy Spring afternoons.

Weathering Winter

Everything I went through will soon be a distant memory- and I will eventually be one of those passengers riding along that familiar busy interstate, staring into distant trees. But this cluster of woods will always hold a special place in my heart, for there will come a moment when I will stare into them- this time from an opposing view, and I will remember the journey; maybe in longing.

No– I will never forget you . . .

A violent storm wreaked havoc upon the woods recently. It was so damaging my wife and I had to take shelter beneath the bed as high winds snapped branches, lightning struck trees, hail pounded the tent, and a tornado siren wailed (the tornado touched down only a few miles away). I admit, there have been some terrifying moments while living in the woods, protected only by a thin layer of fabric. Yet, other than passing storms, the peace was transcendent, and the solitude had its definite benefits.

The struggling personalities I interacted with also had an impact upon me- those human storms with damaged souls who linger in the shadows of a capitalist society.

Pulling the last of our belongings, stacked haphazardly in the little green wagon, I made my way through homeless debris (consisting of trash and paraphernalia), until reaching the top of the hill overlooking Douglasville. The Atlanta skyline was just visible in the distance- it was such a beautiful day.

After loading our belongings into the vehicle, the dogs suddenly became excited, and pulled me into a small section of the woods where about a dozen homeless individuals made a cozy little community. They had been watching from a distance, knowing that I was finally leaving the trees (I had been there longer than any of them). They were my dysfunctional family, and they will continue to be my dysfunctional family. All of them wished my wife and I the best of luck, said farewell to the puppies (which they adored), and told me to find happiness . . . for it remains a viable hope in some minds.

I left them plenty of canned goods, which I would no longer be needing, extra camping supplies, the tent, and something that was special to me- the little green wagon. It belongs to them now, and they were excited to have it. I had to relinquish it; to keep it in its natural environment. It must stay behind, even after all we went through.

Goodbye, little green wagon. You will always be remembered.

As I walked away, I heard a homeless woman yell out, “Keep writing!”

That I will…

But now it is time for us to depart. So we drove away. And I refused to look back- not that I will never visit the woods again, but I did not look back. Not at that moment. A new life awaits, and regardless where I have come from, or where the day will take me . . . I will continue to press on.