Same walk, different days perhaps. Hard to say.
I am happiest walking on the edges of fields. Parks and so forth have too many people.
I wanted to say something about the feeling of being depressed without the accompanying thoughts to drive it along. It’s a strange sensation but one I’ve learned I can experience physically, in isolation from my thoughts which are directed along a different track. It might be that it’s actually a vital divergence, and one necessary for survival. If it can’t be done, perhaps then, it’s the overwhelming combination that takes you over the edge, off the horizon, into the vanishing point.
I have a sense at the moment of saying not enough, but saying too much. The balance is a tricky one and, like walking a tightrope, not entirely in the realm of the conscious. Something said for effect falls fallow; holding back entirely leaves a person cold. Too much and you alienate the whole world. Knowingness – I don’t like. Certainties – which I admit I can be gripped by – fall away. Separating the wheat from the chaff, that’s the trick I suppose. I am not sure I can always do that, but probably best to try.
Soon the wheat will be gone, the kids will be back at school, an autumnal rhythm will start to play. We will not hang in the late summer air… waiting.