and on the third day there was blackened oak

and freeze dried poplar trees and cherry and beech and blackened taters.
The hill sides are brown, the birds are quiet, the light is already unnatural as the leaves start letting go of the bower above and begin drifting down like an early autumn.
Spring Aborted.
I don't think it would have laid everything so low if it had not been so damned dry.
Walked up the cut-through road to cheer myself up and get some air away from the smokey stove trying to warm up the cabin. That was a mistake.
I noticed for the first time that walking up hill naturally makes your neck crane upwards, and when you lift up your eyes unto the hills to get your aid, and the trees on the hills are all brown and wilted, it sort of makes you low down sicker rather than uplifted.
And it was quiet, too quiet. Like all the critters were as stunned as me. Not one bird song, not one insect buzzing.
Got about half way up and that was when I broke down.
It was the smell of the wilted leaves that got me.
Smelled just like standing amongst the logging, and a rush of mourning washed over me.
Started back down the hill and noticed (for the first time, again) that when you are going down, you are looking down at your feet and don't notice as much the state of the world around you, or least-ways, the world looks better, guess that's why the rich folks do the boogie up on the hill.
The thing that aggravates the hell out of me the most (anger is the second stage of mourning, they say) Is that the folks I've talked to don't "get" it.
They don't get that this set back and disruption isn't just wilted leaves, it isn't just grapes and apples and what folks and critter eat.... its the whole system, its the pollination and the mast crops and all the little intricacies and inter-dependencies and so forth.
aw hell... just too tired and sad to talk about it.