we saw the dragon move down

Part of  my whole job thing now involves commuting to Lynchburg and then driving back over the mountain by the witching hours. Though I'd gotten used to it last year, I'd sort of forgotten the joy (terror? limbo? odd dreamlike intensity?) of being the only car on a road cutting through nowhere during the deep parts of the night.
The thing that is always amplified is my tendency to brood, so I hope to have a lot of obnoxious contemplations for you in the coming weeks.

This post is not about those contemplations. 

This weekend I was up in Manassas at my parents house for my mom's birthday party and I had the opportunity to do some walking barefoot in the woods before a storm, which was both frightening and enjoyable. I like walking barefoot in the woods and it had been some time since I'd last done it--not since last summer, probably. I suppose whenever I have, then and now, it feels like a very trusting act--perhaps foolishly so. The holly leaves pricked my heels.  Barbwire, broken beer bottles, rusted nails to say nothing of cat brier. The storm brewing made me uneasy so it felt even more intense to be picking my way through the mayapple and crane flies.

At any rate, I could've gotten into some really deep water out there, thinking on the nature of pain and love and deliberate vulnerability, except that the storm started really kicking and I fled into the house like a child.

 Still, ultimately my hunting and gathering proved fruitful. Green candlesticks and mayapple leaves and the eventual party ended up being fancy indeed.

Here's the lady of the hour doing some prepping. Would that I could look so fine at fifty!