I start this new post on an old topic with a sigh. Is there anything more to say? For this hippy in the city, the theme of isolation from nature comes back around each year to bite me again. In the summer I don't want to go out anyway - I'm a Stark. I don't do well with sweltering. So I just save it all for the dream of a cold fall wind, or that rare heavy storm that brings a fresh breath of clean air in the thick summer heat.
In fall, we have our brief bit of joy visiting the mountains I want to call home. I run in forests and look out from the peaks and remember what I feel like when I'm where I'm supposed to be. And then we come home to the city, and the few leaves that we have fall, and winter starts to seep in through the windows. The days are all shades of grey clouds and slanting gold sunbeams and long shadows that make morning and afternoon seem frozen in the moment before twilight. Bare branches show their intricate designs, where there are branches to be seen. I love these days, because in my childhood so much of the year was this way. But it's not the same here.