After the exceptionally early appearance of autumn color in the first half of August, the month began sliding downhill in the direction of September, the weather changed from frequent rain to bright, summery, far more user-friendly. The result: the gathering of color seemed to slow to a snail's pace. Until four or five days ago, when something jump-started it again. Since then, it's been steadily shifting into high gear, producing the kind of color display that gives Vermont its reputation as the leaf-peepers' Mecca.
E. Montpelier, VT
Looking out any window here has become dangerous (forget walking outside). Forward motion slows, I stare about, amazed, all mental activity halting while I absorb the spectacular visual input. And that, in fact, reflects my general state of being during this last week -- drifting through the days, quiet, abstracted. Off in my own little universe. A state driven home earlier today in the locker room at the gym when the conversation around me consisted almost entirely of sports (the Red Sox and the annual Red Sox fan suffering-fest as the team implodes) and politics. I am largely out of the popular-culture loop, which has suited me just fine. Now and then I turn on the radio -- if what I hear concerns politics, I switch immediately to music. Or kill the stereo completely. Now and then I stumble across a sporting event on the tube -- I may watch a little, but mostly I go right on by. Baseball? Football? Out of the loop. European fútbol? Out of the loop (though I notice if I snoop around the sports page of Spanish newspapers, stories about certain Spanish fútbol teams get my attention in a way that suggests I may be watching some sports when I return to Madrid in November). La Vuelta (Spain's version of the Tour de France)? Pretty much out of the loop.
Et cetera. You get the idea.
And that's the story of this last week -- drifting through my days, doing what needs to be done, not motivated toward high-level productivity in any way. My nights are packed with dreams, with adventures, non-stop activity, and big-budget productions. (Which might explain in part the low-key nature of what's passed for my waking state -- I've gotta rest sometime.) I remember images, some faces, nothing more, haven't felt inclined to try to bring more than that back with me. (A moment I remember: me in a car, going in reverse at high speed -- passing a cop car going in the other direction, two startled uniforms staring as I go by. My velocity high enough that when they change direction, they're unable to catch me.)
The days do bring small events -- contact was finally made with the person who's mistakenly given out this page's email address during a nearly two week long website registration binge. [See entry of September 20.] I'd sent her a note via snail mail eight or nine days ago, then notified Google of what was going on. She didn't learn of the mistake through either of those attempts. Instead, a friend of hers from somewhere in this area happened across this page, thought the person I wrote about might be her, let her know. (What are the odds she'd know someone in Vermont who would clue her in?) All accumulated mail was forwarded to her, we exchanged notes, she seems like a good person. She also seems to still be giving out this address -- each time another piece of mail shows up, I forward it with what I hope is a gentle reminder to straighten things out.
Normalcy will reassert itself. Soon.
This weekend will bring a brief trip to the Boston area for a bout of hobnobbing with friends. I imagine that will plug me back into the world at large to some degree. In the meantime, I continue drifting through these days, Vermont looking its most idyllic.
Calais, VT
By the way, a brief piece from this journal has been included in the current Virtual Occoquan. Go read it.
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 3:03 PM [+]
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