Continued...

I just got done unloading a cord of firewood off the back of a truck ~ and where I live it is the classic Autumn day, not sunny but still golden that is really hard to explain .... it's overcast, cold and very damp, but the trees are dazzling and bright, no longer monochromatic which arranges the perception of the eyecones differently. Can I say it is not brilliant, but it's saturating and bold...

We worked with the guys splitting the wood in the drizzle that accompanies a day like this and I was thinking... sort of thinking.... about non-doing. Is it strange to admit a feeling of non-doing when loading a truck full of wood? But it was like that how your body takes over and your mind muses about this or that and there is an observation of the happening, but it's not like putting the pedal to the metal in the process ... which I'm frankly, damned sick of, sick in soul of trying to figure things out, it's like the figuring out of these processes is as dangerous as any acting out you can do from a complex. It's a slippery slope... Takes you out of the being here and fills you with a sense of having some kind of control over the work of individuation...

And for me, today, I wish only to roushshod over these intellectual, rational pursuits in my big boots and head straight to the splashy mud in my backyard and stack wood. Then go into my house and build a roaring fire and then cut and slice some apples, and dip my hands into some flour and bake me a pie. I wanna buck the system because it ain't corresponding to my values and I won't figure in the missed opportunities but experience the life and light of the coming darkness, not the kind of darkness that kills things, but the kind that prepares.

No more to be seen
On this red-gold day
Of splendoring Summer
Of fishes in water
Or bellows of heat
surfacing from the creek
that rises to the treetops...
but climbs there a cold wind now
which moves through the leaves
tumbling down
rustling into the center
To the heart of it all
where the sap thickens
under the the heavy coat
and is still

I like that there are names for trees after they come down: wood, lumber, timber, but I like more the feel of it in my hands, the smell of it on my clothes and the sensation of it burning against my skin. I like the night of cold days and the smoke from the chimneys and how it feels like everything is slowing down, dark and emanating change in darkness, cool and wet and dry at the same time...