Dark and deep, to be sure.

I can always tell when Big Things are going on; my dreams are weirder, and I remember them better. Not well, but better. Lots of water in them, right now. Water and movement; cars and boats and other things. I suppose this probably means, essentially, that I’m just not sleeping well, that I’m not sinking down underneath the meniscus of active-mind thought that skims the surface of sleep. I certainly feel poorly rested, true enough. Feeling as heavy as I do, though, the metaphor rather breaks down. Heavy things break the surface; heavy things sink.

It’s dark so early. It feels abrupt, this year, although I know it can’t have been. It feels like long summer days were just here, just a moment ago, too-quickly fled. Weren’t they? Wasn’t it just August? I would swear it was. I remember September and October taking AAAAAAAAAAAGES to crawl by, and now I genuinely think they just didn’t happen this year. I think we skipped them somehow.

I’m not ready. The winter-dark is here too soon, I’m not ready to give up the sunlight. I’ve forgotten how koselig works.