Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Perhaps I’m just geared higher than I thought I was, but I’m not getting much in the way of stimulation from the forest environs right now. The march to fall and cool weather seems to have come to a full stop. I’m not finding new migrants or new signs of color change or much in the way of new things at all.
I’m in need of something new to focus on, and I haven’t found it yet. I like to turn things around in my mind, look at things from all angles, wonder about where it came from or where it’s going. Can I turn it inside out? Can I shake it and see what happens?
When I can’t find that something new to entertain or entrance me, I’m as restless as someone in need of a drug fix. And that’s how I feel at the moment. I wander as deeply into the woods as early darkness permits, hoping to notice something different or interesting to grab my attention—to no avail, I’m sorry to say.
The fault, I know, is not in the woods or in the weather, but in myself. Dog and Baby Dog eye me suspiciously from the couch—feet hanging off the ends, heads pillowed on the arms. They are smart enough to know when to run and when to relax. I do not seem to be able to adapt to the quiet around me at the moment. Perhaps it is just the restlessness of a changing season, this disquiet I feel as I am surrounded by quiet. The dogs handle it better than I do, a sad commentary on human activity if ever there was one.