These last weeks I have kept close to home, venturing to work and back with little else filling my days or nights. Mostly because I have been battling one of those winter colds, (and finally winning) but also because the roads have been icy, and getting back to our cozy world seems smart and safe and more important than anything. On this schedule I have gotten home while it’s still light, so a slow meandering stroll to take in the forest and field is a must do.
Clouds have laid heavy across the sky, day after day, so any slight break, even on the distant horizon, is a welcome sight. A sliver of blue alters the winter world, propelling warmth across the endless white. The snow is deceivingly deep, so I stay out on the road, but I linger here for a bit. Nothing beats back the chaos of the media like taking in a mountain vista, and remembering how tiny all the trivia really is. I mean, what power could a tweet hold as we look back in history? It will vanish, unremembered, as only a burst that held little sway once. Up here, perspective takes hold.
Roads this time of year are one rainstorm away from a muddy bog, one ice storm away from a slippery slide, and fairly constantly being plowed due to the constant snow. Today the road is mud and ice, with flurries in the air. Regardless of the condition, I am always happy to be trudging along, looking at deer tracks, making my own mark, or just taking in all the sights. If you get high enough you can see Canada. Toward the west you can see New York, to the east New Hampshire. This wide panorama comes wall free, and up here, I only feel our one world, not the divided ideology proposed by the current occupant of the white house. Here I breathe and know hope.
The whole big world will call me back out relatively soon, but for now, my small world is plenty to keep me moving, listening, watching, and staying present. This week, that seems just about right.