My toe has healed enough that I can walk on it, relatively unhindered. With that in mind, my sister and I went for a hike through Thorncraig, which is this local bird sanctuary about a mile and a half up the hill from my house. I'd forgotten how gorgeous the place is, and just how much work I did on the place back in the early 90s with boy scouts and through my school. Some of my handiwork was still intact, such as a few old bridges I helped build.
Its really misty today, just on the verge of raining, but never quite getting there, and this weather added to the already enchanted feel of the place. I took my digital camera, and photographed all sorts of fungus, and the old fireplace at the top of the hill. One of my shots of some fungus has a stray mist, most likely my breath or something, though if you look at it just right, it looks like an old man with piercing eyes because of the features of the trees behind him.
This last week has been pretty slow. Other than Elliotts death, its been kind of devoid of emotion. Its weird. I was never a huge Elliott Smith fan, at least not in the way I was a fan of Rancid or Mad Sin. I just really had a lot of respect for what he did. His death really kind of fucked me up inside. Its not the loss that really affected me though; its the situation, the way he did it that haunts me. I cannot even begin to fathom the amount of pain one must be in to end everything like that. Cobain could have sneezed; he didnt have time for second thought, Elliott did.
I found myself staring, transfixed on cheap cutlery at the supermarket Wednesday night. It felt as if I had woken up from a night of heavy drinking, only to discover some horrible mess, or evidence of a bad situation strewn in my front yard. I must have looked insane.
Its really misty today, just on the verge of raining, but never quite getting there, and this weather added to the already enchanted feel of the place. I took my digital camera, and photographed all sorts of fungus, and the old fireplace at the top of the hill. One of my shots of some fungus has a stray mist, most likely my breath or something, though if you look at it just right, it looks like an old man with piercing eyes because of the features of the trees behind him.
This last week has been pretty slow. Other than Elliotts death, its been kind of devoid of emotion. Its weird. I was never a huge Elliott Smith fan, at least not in the way I was a fan of Rancid or Mad Sin. I just really had a lot of respect for what he did. His death really kind of fucked me up inside. Its not the loss that really affected me though; its the situation, the way he did it that haunts me. I cannot even begin to fathom the amount of pain one must be in to end everything like that. Cobain could have sneezed; he didnt have time for second thought, Elliott did.
I found myself staring, transfixed on cheap cutlery at the supermarket Wednesday night. It felt as if I had woken up from a night of heavy drinking, only to discover some horrible mess, or evidence of a bad situation strewn in my front yard. I must have looked insane.