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I moved a few days worth of firewood in from the pile, stacked it along the wood stove, ahead of the coming night's snowfall.  Under the crystalline blue skies I was sweating in the cold, cold wind.  Oak leaves cartwheeled across the pocked snow-crust.

46th birthday and time for reflection - (though a long Sunday with the family bouncing around the wind-bound house doesn't lend itself to reflection).  Porter and Nico decided to craft me a carrot cake.

If life comes in thirds, the first 25 years are all about growth and adventure.  The second 25 bring the creep of entwining responsibilities and compromise, and the third 25 should be about the liberations of wisdom and peace.  I'm closing out that middle third.  And I'm going to take up beekeeping and plant a vegetable garden.

Monica will go to Japan instead.  And then together, when we can, we'll climb into the Sierra Nevadas where the earth and heaven overlap.

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