OK so it has been almost a month and I do need to get something down; too much silence can get pretty loud, especially as the pressure grows to break it.
In terms of something really meaty, I'll have to continue to kick the can for a bit. I've got a growing list of notes: I keep thinking of things to elaborate on and then am continuously pushed downstream, having to put off the writing for one reason or another, and now I have a shit-ton of things to write about. Hopefully things don't get too diluted with thoughts going every which way.
Probably not the most pleasant image to contemplate, but one does get a certain sense of constipation, if one is accustomed to regularly writing and formulating and representing thoughts, and then to have all of those thoughts pile up, not fully processed or moving completely through the system.
And in a similar way, its taken a lot longer for the heat to go away this year, up here in the PNW. The weather itself seems constipated. We had a good long rain last week, and then it dried up again and the heat came back on for a couple of days. The land has soaked back in a hell of a lot of water and the streams still haven't recovered. Unprecedented from what I've seen living here for the last couple of years. Up in Washington at least, it starts getting cold and wet throughout September, with a couple of possible last gasps of summer, and then in October the switch gets flipped and things turn cold and wet for good. Not this time.
The poor bugs - I'm always observing and worrying about the bugs it seems - keep trying to get ready to winter over and go into hibernation, and then the heat comes on again, later and later. In a temperate rainforest there is a dense, constant, and intense quality of striving, where the many forms of life are vying for their niches. The fall and winter provide a sort of relief, where everything takes a rest and goes dormant. Not so with the heat continuously lapping in again after having seemingly gone away for the season.
It seems as though the raw energy itself, in its surplus, is continuously pushing the web of life to strive just a bit further, confused, bewildered, half-hearted, half-awake and roused prematurely from the beginnings of its slumber, perhaps wondering in its own instinct-language, "what are we doing, where are we going?"
