This image should conjure a pungent odor for all you salty dogs out there; it's late November, the air temperature is about 55 degrees F, and the tide is fleeting from the rocky New England coast. The water is much colder already and communities of shellfish are indifferent about atmospheric exposure this time of year.
But alas, it's mid July and the sweltering heat of the summer in Iowa is exacerbated by the suffocating humidity produced by the evapotranspiration of agricultural plants in the fields. My skin is dampened from grease, sweat, and dew, a substrate for the filthy odor of fresh manure that hangs in the air despite the swift breeze that provides no relief in light of these conditions. It's strange that I would long for this in the despair of winter scenes.
The Deep Blue will chronicle explorations of experimental, environmental, and existential preponderances. Philosophy, pseudo-science, and pessimism, note my casual indulgences in every day life. I hope you'll all stay tuned.
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