The mainland BC forest fires continue to rage, and the smoke has now drifted over Southern Vancouver Island. There’s no world outside the cove, and that suits my mood of the last day.
I don’t very often allow myself to wallow in self-pity, to indulge in “why meeeeee” wailing; that’s not to say I don’t have bad times, but typically I will give myself time to grieve. Grieve for losses, for a lost life, for a lost future. Not for very long mind you, just an hour or so, as one might use the pressure valve on a canning pot.
But yesterday was a very rare dark, dark day. I’ve had very few of these since the early days of diagnosis, thankfully. And I know if I can ride it out, it will pass. But it’s a pretty miserable, lonely place. Everything is too much trouble, everything is worthless, everything is heavy and grey.
Red moon casts a malignant eye o’er
sky of damp grey felt as fingers
of smoke and fog permeate
my bleak soul, paralyzed
with fear, grief. longing
By morning, both external and internal smoke and fog had begun to clear.