journal : three of foxes
Sep. 29th, 2017 10:46 pmThe woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
This has been a bustling twentyfour hours for animals for me. It started last night, when there came a strange sound from the back yard - an unearthly shriek that came in short, uneven bursts. It was startling and loud, as I had both my windows open to bring in the fresh cool autumn air. We looked but didn't see anything, until I stepped outside and a fox came trotting into the pool of light. Redish grey, it paused and looked at me - eyes shining in the darkness. A second pair shined from outside the light, and a third form moved just out of light's reach. I remembered then, the stories about the sounds foxes make. What does the fox say indeed. if the three of foxes was a card, what would the meaning be?
Then today, it's Michaelmas - some things are too ingrained. We took a drive up to Savannah Portage State Park. On the way there I saw a bald eagle. It launched from its perch and swooped low over the moving cars, black and white, too fast for my camera. At the park we were greeted by a lone deer, who grazed casually by the road, her ears neatly fringed with black. A little ways on we stay two more, and later on saw two more - one obviously nearly still a fawn. We visited Loon Lake first, and say the splashes made by the trout, and trees hewn by beavers, and saw a lanky red squirrel. Then we went over to Wolf Lake, where I saw another bald eagle, swooping across the lake, and another little red squirrel posed for pictures. We saw too, at a distance, the gleaming swans swimming on the lake. Then I hiked out to the overlook for the continental divide, where the water breaks west to the Mississippi river, and east to Lake Superior. Away from people, dodging muddy ruts, surrounded by trees - I was almost home, almost a certain kind of peace. Saw a camping shelter that had been hit hard by the storms last year and still lay in partial ruins like a witch's hut, and saw the swans in flight over the lake from a distance. A chipmunk crossed our trail on the way back to the car.
Mayb is hilarious ill equipped to deal with being in nature, for all of her boasting. Talked with mom about what it's like to have severe, all the time depression - not entirely sure if she gets it, but she's trying to. She's had it in short bouts, and for her it's something that ends and never gets that severe to begin with. I get the sense she'd rather I be diabetic because it's easier for her to understand and solve, and maybe some of my problems are insulin resistance - goodness knows I tick a lot of other boxes for PCOS, and that's one. I have an appointment for November and I hope I survive. I haven't been sleeping great recently because of my back hurting, which has been getting in the way of riding in the car too, and I deeply suspect one of my front teeth is infected. Meanwhile, every other aspect of my life seems to be falling down around our ears. I feel so trapped because I feel like I could do something, I could fight this downward slide, if I just... could.
depression is lungs full of black sludge. it's moving, thinking, feeling, through that sludge. it's a dark and loud room, and a world where colors don't seem real and who am I? am the i really who I think I am, or is this it? is this all there really is, nothing more? just emptiness and pain, for decades and decades until i die? depression is a voice that speaks lies without purpose.
We had pizza for dinner. Might go to the library book sale tomorrow, though it's so... deflating. Defeating. I always feel worse after going, and come away with no books. It was so windy tonight, and the stars so clear. I saw Orion two nights back, though it's so hard to spot among the myriad stars. Winter is coming, and I miss... part of me still lives in my last real NaNo, the world of stars and snow and swirling patterns. I miss NaNoWriMo. I didn't actually do it last year, and the vacancy aches. I'll try again, but it's not the same alone. The loneliness is the worst of it.
music rec : the album Song Spells, No.1: Cedarsmoke by Sea Wolf.