It's been one of those weeks... of longing. For the fragrance of creosote after a hot monsoon shower. For the spartan pines, solitary and enduring atop a mesa. For the silence of a desert night nested under a thousand stars.

Keeping up with civilization seems like the least of worthy tasks. Particularly as it (the civilization) is in the midst of a mad dash of consumerist self-destruction. Truth is forgotten. I think it has gone off to the silent, waiting place.