And here I am, contact with the digital world restored. I can feel my fingers having grown less dexterous at this particular task. I suppose that's the way it always is though, the ol' use-it-or-lose-it routine. I can only reflect that my analog notation has indeed become much better in the absences.
This sporadic writing is prompted by the momentary by my return from the exile I put myself through every summer. Every Saturday a twelve hour window before sleep and return. A peering back into the muck that awaits me. To be sure there are bright spots in the muck but you have to make them happen.

Out there in exile there's only light and space and green. Well, there are bugs too but I've learned not to mind them. There is only clarity. I've been out there in the thick of it for some time now. I've mourned for the damage that I'm inflicting. As I walk among the trees I am aware of the plants and insects that I crush. But I remember that death is the price of life. Deer flee before me because my species is known to them as a death bringer. How is it that I love a thing so alien from myself?

I have begun to practice my archery in a more serious manner. I spoke with Tim a few days ago and secured his permission to hunt at camp. I plan to kill a deer this coming fall. With Tim's experience for my guidance I plan to discover just how deep my predatory instincts run. So I will hunt and kill part of the thing that I love, and then it will become part of me.

As I look at my previous statements and realize that they are all true I wonder how it looks to outsiders of my position. One of two options is bound come to mind, lunacy or religion. Maybe a little of both.

there is just a thin layer
just a thin layer of glue
glue that holds the parts
parts that run the machinery
machinery that makes life tick
life ticking away
Who glued it?
Who broke it?
Is that the bottle?
Did you know the warantee on the glue is expired?

Iron