I replay the day’s waypoints:
Scots pines silhouette against pink/yellow dawn.
The widening ripples of a waterbird’s running take-off.
Volumetric fingers of early sunlight pool bright on the sea surface, briefly ignite cliff verticals.
White gulls loft against ominous purple sky.
Hail stripes at the sea’s horizons.
The endless fall of surf.
These islands, this coast, are as the Vikings saw them. Lakes and woods, dunes and crags.
These seascapes kill me with their beauty, everytime.
I’m at the undisputed centre of a hemisphere of epic.
Game developers are closing in on this experience. (Oh wait.)
The Unreal Engine Nature Deficit Disorder mod pack.
Two decades of trail running help me mind-roam a fractally deep landscape and generate experience on the fly.
Every replay adds more world detail.
The draw distance tends to infinity.
And there are surprises, akin to when you have a plot twist, or hear a punchline in a dream. I try not to look for them, but you can’t bluff Fate.
Let the mountains come.
Today it was the A#, C hum of a fence line in the north-west wind.
Here are the places and traces that will comfort and carry you, until the white dot comes and you are enfolded back into the world.
Kicked from the server.
But right now, the intention is just to sleep, and I’m recalling the day’s found experiences.
These aren’t personal statements, or metaphors, or junctions. They signify nothing but themselves.
A second pass over the day, and I already have that interleaved partition mind thing going.
I’m sleeping like a swift on the wing.
If I get to the third iteration, I recall so much that it feels like real time.
I could reach out and touch stuff.
I’m reliving the day as a first-person observer.
It’s a second chance at mindfulness.
Before history imposes the third-person vantage point.
This is the location favoured by RPG cameras, guardian angels and your judgmental future self.
I’m consolidating the present.
Signing off the minutes.
Making peace with the past, before it happens.