the moment i saw this trailmarker it made me laugh. i was feeling exactlyyy this way, so this lightened my mood. (yes, yes, i understand that the marker made sense, but if you flatten it out (as opposed to three-dimensional) it is admittedly funny and a little confusing.)
middle age (ohmygosh, yes, middle age) seems like a time of arrows every which way. where we’ve been, where we are, where we are going…these questions are all different now…different from the striding times even a decade ago. time is starting to mean something else; i recognize the scarcity of time-limitlessness.
i lost one of my very best friends from elementary school, junior high and high school last week. kenny was brilliant and funny and courageous and a really good person. together with his twin richard and i, we were often thought of as “triplets” in school, mostly because we were all platinum blond kids growing up. i haven’t seen kenny for many years. the last time i can remember was having coffee with him at the atlanta airport; he was an airline captain and based there so we met when i flew through with a tad bit of a layover. he was thrilled to catch me up about his beautiful wife and son and he joked about how long it took him to find her. even though i saw him rarely, there was something about knowing he was in the world that was comforting…a piece of my long-ago-past that i could still talk to or text with, maybe see from time to time, who knew me when i was little, when i was a preteen, when i was a teenager, when i loved calculus. i tried to explain this to d…when certain people who connect me way back to my roots are no longer present on this earth, it is as if i can feel the earth tilt on its axis; it wobbles. and nothing will ever be the same. i can’t get to ken’s service, but i hope to carry with me – always – a piece of kenny and our growing-up history. i hope to honor him somehow.
and the next time i wonder “which way” in angst, i hope to stand still, right where i am. time is not unlimited. i don’t want to waste it.
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becue, listening to a band. in front of us, hundreds of spring skiers and boarders go past us – we virtually have front row seats. we watch the girl approach from the heights of the ski mountain…she gets closer, closer. her ability on that snowboard astounds us. she is one with it; her passion for the snow obvious in her huge laughter as she stops abruptly in front of us, deliberately and generously spraying us with snow and slush. 
i catch my breath as i look at my beautiful daughter, the mountains behind her, intense sun. i laugh, all the way from my heart, as i celebrate with her. this air, this space, this vastness, this greatness, this majesty.
the air was clear and crisp. the sun dappled through the trees. (haven’t you always wanted to write that? “dappled through the trees.”) when you are on the mountain hiking, you aren’t as aware of the mountain, if that makes sense. (i remember one time out in the colorado mountains when i was heading to a concert venue and they gave me directions through high elevation plains. i drove along, wondering where the mountains had gone. when you are up on them, you don’t see them. so much like life, eh?) but when you are hiking and you come up to a clearing 
and there is a break in the trees and you can see beyond where you are standing, beyond the trail, beyond limitations, you can see that the mountains out there go on and on and on. we came upon such a clearing and i caught my breath. i didn’t want to turn around. i wanted to keep going and going. to see more of this space, this vastness, this great majesty.
the snow, having survived the wind and driving snow. vivid color. in heavy boots, bulky coats, long underwear, double gloves and earmuffs we set out. we weren’t far into our hike when we realized that we were the first out on the trail since the snow. first after the deer. first after the rabbits and tiny birds that had hopped across the path. first after whatever animal it was that made enormous tracks in the snow. longer than his boot, these tracks kept us company for a long way, meandering in and out of the brush, in and out of the woods. we wondered aloud what it was. we quietly pondered that these woods were not ours. they are home to beautiful creatures, big and small. creatures that depend on the turning of the seasons, the sun, the warmth, the snow, the rain, the ecologic responsibility of those of us who are out there, for a bit of time, with them.
mostly, i was bowled over by the fact that we were the first people to walk out there since it had snowed. the trail through the prairie glittered in the sun and in the woods, the trees reflected majesty on the snowy path. we were first; we weren’t first. but to make the first people-tracks in the snow…to know that in at least the last 36 hours or so, no one else had walked there…something about that was humbling. hugely grateful for the universe in all its goodness, in that place of quiet-quiet, that space of pristine clear that single digit temperatures make possible, the smell of sun in our hair, i was struck by our smallness. four footprints in the snow, walking together, side by side. hand in hand. on trails. through the woods. in life. that’s really it – four footprints. each set of prints count. each stride counts. each breathless moment that we get to breathe counts. now counts. now is the only thing that really counts, the only thing that really is.
reverse threading 