please don't

part 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