"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

18 September 2010

Tinderbox Days

Along the mountainsides there are bands of greens, yellows, and even a few oranges. It's been so warm, the aspens haven't really peaked just yet. Insects still dance in the sunlight. There have been some mournings it has frosted, but only lightly, fading into phantasm upon the sunlight's kiss. In the later afternoons, once whatever the day required has been done, it is perfectly comfortable to take tea outside, reading a book in nothing but a pair of cutoffs.

I have dug these halcyon days of late summer, seeping into an early mountain autumn. There is no indication of snow within the next week to week and a half. My ten pence guess is the first flakes might not fly for at least two, if not three, weeks. The ski resorts might not be pleased by this, but after the cold and brutal winter, which still scars my memory, an extended summer and omens of a mild indian summer are rather welcome.

But moisture would be a boon. Wildfires blister parts of the Rocky Mountain front range. Even in our little Sahel, there are burning restrictions. It has been said that those who fight fires have been on edge as of late. I can admit to seeing the smoke from the train's steam engine and worrying the forests are about to go up in flames.

Still, despite being in a tinderbox, I find myself feeling rather zen. Moreso than usual. Since that journey into the outback, I have felt lighter, seeing as a weight has been lifted. Part of me wonders if mediums like this will take a new turn. Over the last eight months, I know I've told a few stories, but, by and large, a lot of this has been a portrait of my mourning. Tales of how I've sifted through emotional wreckage in an eight month journey to bury someone, even if it was just in metaphor. Perhaps it is an awful thing for me to state, but I am a little tired of it.

Hopefully, with that pall lifted, I can move even further on. I realize this is something one does not ever fully recover from. Be that as it may, I have noticed recently, when sipping tea, reading one of my books, and taking in the halcyon tinderbox days of late summer, seeping into an early mountain autumn, that I feel much lighter. I am sickly skinny as it stands, being an aberration, it's bound to happen. But this lightness comes from the lifting of a psychic weight, and I find myself feeling even more zen than usual, if that's even possible.

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