Monday, August 9, 2010
Last week I was treated to a spectacle of nature that I have cherished since my boyhood. Thunder storms affect many people this way. There is an undeniable primality in the bombastic release of energy and kinesis that just makes me want to go native. When I stand on the deck of my little house in the woods, surrounded by very large trees and, accented by the fact that my home looks out across a flat, treeless swampy terrain, which allows one to really focus on the movement that develops when the storms strike. This past week was one of the most powerful storms we have had in a very long time. As I always do, when these conditions are present, I prepare for the event by removing all clothing and begin some sort of chanting, or my version of primitive singers, which to any sane person would look like some kind of psychotic meltdown or peyote induced, shamanistic invocation to the gods of kinesis and root-level physics brought on by a desire to be one with the life/death force and the inevitable glimpse of the universe that the combination of watching the tops of trees start to break off and fly around, and the abrupt reality of nearly getting knocked into oblivion by TWO lightning strikes that I actually watched/were in/ within the very few moments I had before diving back into the house as the crashing sound of a ten inch diameter tulip poplar gave it up sending debris and splinters, leaving TWO slick white sappy scars that looked like elephant tusks in the two strikes. I have yet to make a dent in the downed tree limbs, as wet tulip trees defy the Stihl chainsaw. All in good time...and maybe that Was the wicked witch of the west after all. Hic finis est.