I was wandering up the Brown’s mountain trail immersed in some obsessive thinking stimulated by work. Hands in pockets, looking down, vaguely recognizing anything, I saw this small patch of unevenly lit leaf and dirt, and snapped a shot.
My introversion is really more like an empty room where someone has left the television on, and it’s running a commercial for an anti-depressant. The thinking turned out to be pointless, as, by the time I got to work the next day, all the elements I had reflected on had been “shaked, rattled, and rolled” into a different configuration.
