Spring forward. The time change means that I’ll have an extra hour each evening for skychasing. That alone is worth the lost hour of sleep.Read More →
Frigid. That’s the only way to describe the first few days of March. The thermometer was lower in January, but there’s been something about the recent cold snap that goes straight to the bones. The sun dodged in and out between flurried squalls but never brought the warmth we’ve all be craving. Next week, perhaps.
The last few months have been among the best of my life, both personally and professionally. I just described my life to a friend as “never having been more zen.” My inner circle has become more intimate and beautifully deep, taking center stage while the distractions of life have moved into the wings or disappeared altogether.
I found time to get some dirt and gravel under my tires at sunset tonight, a long overdue breath of country air. A sliver of sunset hung at the horizon as low scuttle clouds raced from the south. I secretly hoped for a spectacular underlighting that never came, but the skies didn’t disappoint. My short jaunt of skychasing on this unseasonably warm day was the perfect cabin fever cure.
It’s the most perfect autumn morning, our season’s first chill. I stepped out into the crisp, 35°F air and felt it fill my lungs. I paused for a moment, then exhaled a satisfyingly visible trail of vapor back to the universe.
The last vestiges of summer’s heat were chased out by a stormy wall of cold air that’s left behind a chilly breeze that feels like October.
My mother reminded me today that I was born on 10:03 on the morning of 10/03.
At 10:03am tomorrow, I’ll be 47.
47 sounds … old.
My relationship with religion is best described as complex, but I’ve been waiting for years to capture this cross silhouetted by the setting sun. It’s always struck me as beautiful.