July 26, 2011 - 1:37am — Seed
I woke up and ran into Dag, who then ran off to find another: Lacy, I think? The trees can only tell me that 'not having CSS is not an excuse for not having basic identification' and grumbled about it. I have no idea what they mean. I don't take it when they grumble like that very seriously: no, they're the angriest when they aren't rustling, whispering, dropping leaves and pinecones with the weight of thought... We had a bit of play, where we all tried out our silly walks. It's been a while since I moonwalked as competitively as I did back there, head high and footsteps exact as I curved, not daring to look behind me for fear of breaking the effect. There's something marvelous to it -- going back by making the motions of going forward. Haa. Dag seemed quite amused, and as rarely as I see many of my friends -- and as often as I worry if they care for me still, because of that, and how more often I wish I knew how to resummon older, denser times the way you cast a spell, or I pull words loose from my mind and linger my tongue over the ideas like they were pulled teeth -- I was delighted to please him.
Then we all settled to the side and rested in a sunbeam: unlike yesterday, it wasn't an unusual sunbeam. I can't think that the sunbeam itself meant something -- but perhaps it did, and perhaps by sitting in it we blasphemed it. How would we know the difference?
...I guess I am still thinking of yesterday. For all our petty worries and squabbles, there's a nobility to this place, sometimes. And a sadness. It had a funny weight, the rain: It was the weight of bearing alien people in your heart, and knowing them the same -- the same enough that they can sit and nestle in your thoughts, and your tears for them, or for yourself, or the strange beauty of remembering things that don't belong to you, or their families, or maybe just everyone -- that those tears can blend with the rain.
In the sun, I can say such things, but I don't know what weather it'll have to be, before I know if they are wise or foolish.
Still, Forest, you were beautiful for having that in you. You were. You are. Remember that.
I must have dozed off more often than I would have liked. Dag seemed ill-at-ease: maybe instead of the lingering scent of yesterday's rain, he caught the scent of some distant disaster, coming this way on the wind. I'd hope not.
((There may be more if I have time later today))
Yes, it was Lacie. She wasn't
He's seen her a few times: he