Random thoughts on a Tamalpais day

The mountain circles in the distance very close, exposed, known, a burned-out expanse in the sun-hot day, a cleared, overexposed floating sensation, obscure by the very nature of the light, a two-tone filter over everything. Yellow and lighter than light blue.

The Bay mud, a sticky, clogging-feeling mess -- hair in a drain catcher, mucous in an exhausted, overworked, slightly asthmatic pair of lungs (like just having breathed in the air to power an overweight body's legs on a bicycle up an insanely steep trail through the woods) -- merges with the sensation of the mountain's sight.

The known. The unknown. "Not knowing is most intimate." It's always best not to know, to see everything with fresh eyes, moist-new to the world. Whatever.

Floating in a vapid, treasure-less space, pierced by the image of the fire from a .45mm handgun's thick-ass ammunition when fired. What is a day? A thought never to be known?