a dry leaf in my hair
I'm back at terrealuma. The sunlight's hallucinatory, the dryness worrying from the perspective of water-levels in the well, and galloping global warming, but beautiful both underfoot, and acoustically. Walking slowly, barefoot over the grass, I'm surrounded on all sides by tiny sounds of distinct crispness within the still air, the leaves falling of their own accord, scattering through newly revealed structures of dark branches, knocking against other leaves and dislodging them as they go.
I've never been so acutely aware of the sound of leaves falling against each other. It's like listening to sudden, sporadic showers of dry rain.
I'm walking, with half a cup of coffee in my hand, past the almost-empty vegetable garden, smelling the cabbages, towards the amphitheatre area where I'm going to do some work on the Creative Regeneration course materials. Everything's cooking. The roof of the house is jumping, as Paragita, the Heart Sutra track, is being finished for imminent release. Maciek's recording some last minute guitars. They're roaring in a blaze of autumn glory.
The sound carries, but the falling leaves are in the foreground, they're the stars. The wind is almost too gentle to be felt, but today everything can be heard.
Returning to the house, I feel as if I have company. Something's following me, is with me, a quiet almost constant rustling. I glance around from side to side, maybe some little animal? It's very close, too close to see. I come in and sit down at the computer. Maciek's still playing. I have a dry leaf in my hair.