Lately it’s been too hot to even get my brain to string a sentence together. Wildfires are licking up the Quebec forests. Being outside is nauseating, and inside it’s so hot and you can’t even be spared by a stray breeze crawling in from the window. It scares me. Yesterday, our beach plans got derailed and we drove instead to the suburbs to a dim sum restaurant. Across the bridge, not a single thing on the horizon, smoke as far as the eye could see. All of these fires so early into the summer season, no orange sun in August, but early June. Early June, marked by thunderstorms and thick sticky humidity, but now fire and smoke, smoke, smoke.
There has been so much movement it has been hard to settle for a spare moment, and put things into words. After a few days of rot, filled with the Funny Girl and the Kardashians I felt it was time. The experience of rot is always a period of emptying out and then a day or two of review. I finished a journal, the last sentence read “in that void space, before I step through the portal.” The perfect moment to review it all.
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