Each of the crew limping, so to speak. While nature does her seasonal transitional dance on the other side of the door, darkness and foreboding creeps through the leaks that otherwise were not apparent.
One was tired, sleepy and off to school thankful she is at week's end. The other, not salaried, off to work when her recovering would be better for everybody. And he looking at what has transpired over several days unable to fixate on anything …
The log full of a sort of desperate reaching. His work reflected the malaise he felt. From past experience, he knew not to just discard that part of the log, chalking it up to an irrelevant hiccup or something else inconsequential. It may turn out to be so, but if not, a clue to why these type of efforts seem to truncate?
For example, pushing a discovery, like pushing an invention … it does not work. The textual nature of the log made later inductive analysis by readily available tools, if not easy, at least doable. He saw it in her eyes this morning, pushing is to re-affirm commitment not a futile exercise in design. And below (down in that soup) probably lay an insight apropos to the downturn itself. Close the too explicit sight to see the subtle meaning in its considered history.
Within moments, the sunlight turns grey to blooms of spectacular color (as is its habit this time of year, here). Life's ebb and flow. Like the light, a projection?
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