Summer | unscripted 2017 #3 - Threshold

This morning - I'd already written and named this post, but had no photo. I took a break to fetch the laundry from the line, and saw this on a blanket.

​We move into endearingly ramshackle Topanga quarters.
 
Time to begin work in earnest.
 
Then—the canyon turns on me. 
 
Something settles on my chest, a palpable weight, nausea, dread, and finger-trembling fear. The spirit and beauty of Topanga vanish. Like upside down in Stranger Things, it’s right there—and not. The bright flipside’s inaccessible. I trip a light switch and silverfish scatter into shadows. Something stinks under the sink. Two strangers warn me of rattlers. Big dogs snarl behind a low fence.
 
Like stage fright, I cannot write. No desire, visceral terror, revulsion.
 
All I can think is run—away.