rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Out There

Nothing I see around here this afternoon interests me. No thoughts which come to my mind have any staying power. I spend hours woolgathering yet end up with nothing to knit. I wait for evening then walk in the back yard. There are more fallen oak leaves for my steps to crush now. They grow dim in the fading light even as their trodden bits grow smaller. A few more green walnuts have dropped from the tree, too. I kick them aside so not to slip on them.

From the high end of my circuit I face south and from there I see the waxing moon barely clear of the pines. It rises and grows brighter as the landscape fades. Both seem insubstantial. I finish walking and sit for a while, listening to the last birds chirping and the first crickets. The southeastern sky where it bumps the woodlands is hazy and has turned vaguely mauve. All this I note, but I feel disconnected from it. Everything looks and sounds as expected this time of year. I'm the only thing out of phase. I'm not sure I remember just what it's like not to feel dazed.

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