Fire & Ice

Despite a lot of harsh, wild, and sad events happening in the world right now, December carries on, here in the Northwestern territories of the United States. It seems like every act of turning on the news is an exercise in bravery, and I haven't been very brave lately.

Really, the bravest thing I did this weekend was attempting to skateboard after eating a monster burrito that was so heavy, it almost ripped all Hulk-like through the paper bag it was carried home in.

There was a birthday party, too, featuring an arm wrestling tournament that crowned our pal Xeno the #strongestmanonearth. And the day after that, there was a slippery hike up an icy gulch (much cat-like balance came into play). The reward at trail's end was simple and austere: a veil of rushing water and a cauldron of blue ice.

There were many, many minutes tucked away in the corner of the couch. Book open. TV or radio on. Rain rushing down the windows. And so on. Plenty of quiet hours appreciating such things as the sense of peace a sleeping animal can bring into a room.

In contrast to the rest of the world, our lives are magical, lucky, impossibly charmed. Continuing to live them in the face of impermanence and death isn't exactly brave or noble, but it's something.