I’ve learned that I can’t grab a ripple out of the creek and take it home with me.

I’m guessing it works the same where you are.

But in the natural course of things, that must always only ever abide as a guess.

***

Depending on which tool is used for measurement, the number of human ripples who are not completely sick of the shit I write currently stands at right around … five.

When it comes to the shit I say, typically into a microphone or a camera, the unsick comprise a tribe of as many as a few dozen.

These tiny dancing numbers obsess me and in the natural course of things that obsession is a pure foolishness which ends at a glacial ice wall hundreds of meters high up there in Beringia.

There’s no way for me to get over it.

So in between feeding times, I look instead for a way around it.

The term Beringia was coined by the Swedish botanist Eric Hultén in 1937.

Before that, it didn’t exist.

Taking time to be impressed with myself for knowing those two things is an icewall unto itself, but I comfort myself with the knowledge that what I permit myself to be impressed by is prettier, than if I were to let myself be impressed with anything Trudeau said, or could ever say.

Does that make me sick of his shit? Yeah, probably.

But I don’t want to be sick any more.

So that’s why I’m bothering with the effort it takes to look for that hypothetical way around.

As for why the mammoths look too, themselves, I’d just be guessing yet again.