August 13.

How did that happen?

With lots and lots of away-from-the-computer time is how. With lots of time in the woods and water and boat with the dog is how. With lots of great people time is how. With lots of sun and warmth and nothing getting accomplished (as in “list-to-d0”) is how.

A-a-a-h.

Today is quiet. Many people were here and now it’s silent. Silent except for the waves outside my window.

At times like this, I wonder – now where was I in my life? Like reading a book, I’ve lost my place. I forget what I was doing before all the kerfuffle.

It reminds me of the trees. A while ago, a very old tree fell and missed my building by inches. When the tree experts came, they assessed the other huge trees on my land which were the same age. All were ready to fall. Those old, ancient trees were cut.

Only later did I read about the intricate connections these trees have to each other. Not just above ground but below. It’s like a version of the internet down there – with all the fungus part of the networking. And it’s vital to the making and health of the trees as a community and to our soil. Even the stumps that are left will interact for a long time.

I somehow was imagining that my above ground perception of the trees matched my public interactions with those that visited – the part that is so vividly visible. And by extension, the below ground continues on, long after the friend or loved one has left. And that my reference only needs to shift – to that ongoing part. That part that continues regardless.

And that my family, my friends, my set-aside-art, all these things are not cause for “losing my place in my book”.

I’m just looking in the wrong location at first.

All, so connected.