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January 8th, 2025 - 11:50 PM

  Wednesday. Mid-week has fully reasserted itself. The snow is now just part of the urban landscape – shrinking, dirty mounds huddled against buildings, releasing trickles of meltwater onto perpetually damp sidewalks. The brief drama of the storm has settled into the background noise of the city getting on with its business.

  Ran mundane errands today, including a trip to the grocery store. It remains a peculiar experience, even after decades of modern markets. The sheer abundance, flown in from every corner of the globe, displayed under relentless fluorescent lights – summer berries from South America nestled beside winter roots, completely defying the natural seasons I lived by for so long. It’s a miracle of logistics, undoubtedly, but feels utterly disconnected from the earth, from the slow, steady rhythm of growth and harvest. Convenience traded for connection.

  I needed a particular type of wild mushroom, one occasionally misidentified and mixed in with common varieties, useful for grounding potions. The display was a jumbled mess. Rather than sorting through handfuls, I closed my eyes for a moment, extending a tendril of inquiry – a silent question seeking a specific energetic resonance. A faint pull guided my hand towards the back of a cluttered shelf, beneath a pile of bland creminis. Three perfect specimens, overlooked by everyone else. A simple dowsing technique, adapted for the produce aisle. Much more efficient than relying on imprecise labeling.

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  Observing the other shoppers, intently scrutinizing packages, comparing prices with furrowed brows, tapping fruits with uncertain fingers… it’s a modern form of foraging, I suppose. Relying on printed dates and nutritional information panels more than innate sense or experience. A different skill set entirely.

  The air outside still holds the sharp bite of winter, a clean coldness beneath the omnipresent damp. Saw city workers battling a stubborn sheet of ice on a crosswalk near my building, their metal scrapers ringing against the frozen surface – a rhythmic, almost futile sound against the lingering chill.

  It’s good to be back in the warmth. Mundane chores like these, the simple act of acquiring food and necessities, help tether me to the present moment. A necessary counterpoint to the vastness of memory. Still, the contrast between this method of gathering sustenance and foraging in a silent, snow-laden forest centuries ago… it’s stark. Time for coffee. A reliable anchor.

  Lyra

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