please don'tpart two
Now that winter there'd been some incredibly furious windstorms
blowing in from the ocean and these enormous resilient trees had been
uprooted and cast about in the wake of what looked like the sweep of
God's hand. Alec and Tim and I ventured out onto his street, which was
pleasantly empty, and walked the block to the path into the Sutro Heights
park that leads to the outlook. We came to an area marked off with yellow
tape, the area of the damage. We could hear the sound of a chainsaw in the
distance, seemingly natural amidst all this torn and violated wood. We all
wanted to wander off the path and into the damaged area to see it up close. It was fascinating, especially to our tripping minds, and we penetrated
eventually into an amazing clearing that now had an incredible (private)
view of the ocean, made from trees torn out of place. There was an enormous
tree partly sawed, flat on top, which we sat on while talking. Alec had said
on the way into the glade that he felt like we were getting away with something.
It was almost too perfect. Then, after we talked for a while and watched
the incredibly wet sky and still busy ocean, Alec began to wax rhapsodic. He was
having one of those moments (another type of peak) where he was "getting
it" - everything was fitting together, nature on a small and grand scale, himself
and the entire cosmos. He was filled with joy. Meanwhile, the chainsaw noise kept stopping and starting but we were still
thinking nothing of it. We did notice that, a ways behind us, the clearing was
bounded by a large downed tree, like an enormous Christmas tree on its side,
stripped of its decorations. What was odd, though, was that the branches were
sometimes rustling quite a bit, seemingly at random, not in any natural rhythm.
Still these observations merely played along the fringes of our consciousness
as we continued to banter, freely discussing the fact that we were on drugs,
that this was an amazing if slightly illicit place to be, and blah de blah
blah. part three |