one midsummer day, walking down a grassy dirt lane, you see a doorway cut in a fence row surrounding tall trees that look like a shelter. as you walk toward it you notice a clearing in the middle, with a stone firepit and tall weeds, as if this place has not been visited for years. it's a small area. enough for a tent or two and some running around. smaller than the size of a house. as you crest the little rise of land you look down and see a pond. your feet sink into the soft, squishy earth the closer you get to it. covered in moss, the pond looks deserted of fish. there is a stillness about it. a lone duck house is planted firmly in the middle of the pond, but cobwebs shimmer from a distance, showing that it lacks inhabitants. everything feels heavy: the muggy nature of the air, the threatening clouds approaching from the north, the mosquitos buzzing around your ears, frogs croaking intermittantly.
this is how i feel.