we will have our leavetaking, in our own time, in the time we make, with what we're given, and what we give we give with love.
this is like the last morning of summer camp with mister. summer's not over but it feels like a brief and breathless effusion, is passing, what was not yet fully here, is passing. feels like nature doesn't have time to gather in what is needed, for the rest, for sleep, in the season-less grandomania, the crushing towering construction. instead of what is necessary we have empire, the necessary evil, that has no necessity save its own artificial dominance. hear the buzzing of the insects, they too are dying off, their songs trail off to a vanished wilderness, but their communities are still beyond our accounting, and they will eat what we leave, of our vast designs, our refuse, what we refused, finally, they will break down our grids and our towers into the common elements again. but that's a long time from now, and we only have this almost incomprehensible now, this brief, heartrending summer camp before the fall.

today we'll take the doggyride back to the beach, and notice many small things along the way. anticipating this my eyes get watery and want to cry. and oh, the rain begins.