old arcata road

The mists are constantly moving, changing shape, appearing and dissolving. There isn’t such a thing as a ‘view’ here, most days; what’s more vivid than the particular things I can see is how light the air is, then how heavy.

“But I have to appeal to the senses again, as if they were more than toys
in their present form. So I arise and paste on my eyes.”

(reading Culture of One again)