I found something I wrote a year ago today.
For someone who does not journal, it sounds a lot like journaling. You have been warned.
One year ago I had just moved from my hometown to a small town.
7 hours south; Away from my friends and familiarity; moving in with my parents.
Awesome. Every 19 year olds dream!
I wouldn’t say I was thrilled about the change, but that’s life.
Looking back it was a good thing but that’s a whole ‘nuther story…
for now, I’ll just let you take a look at life as I saw it
1 Year Ago:
I just got in from outside. It is February 25th, but feels like March 18th, when you come from where I do. There is snow, but not too deep. There are bare patches under the trees, and the roads are all frozen, but with patches of ice and stretches of frozen mud. There are big hills here, which make deep valleys and pretty sunsets with dramatic lighting.
I took the dogs for an outing. Running with a golden retriever and a beautiful mutt is a wonderful thing. I was holding the catten today too, and he was so fuzzy, and he purred, and it made me think: Who thinks of taking such a fuzzy ball of legs and whiskers and put Life into it? I think God did a pretty good job.
It was a good time outside. Running down a frozen country road in my Little Red Riding Hood jacket and gum boots is not only slightly treacherous, but exhilarating. There is ice and snow and cattle guards. The rhythmic loping of the retriever beside me and seeing the freedom of my dog running ahead was beautiful. Invigorating.
There’s not much to do but run, when you’re running.
I thrust my arms out surfer-style and slide on the ice. My boots are very good for that; they don’t have much grip. That’s okay. It makes me a good slider.
It was a good day. I was reminded of things that I love, and not just because I thought about them; I experienced them again. I have missed this.
I love walking in rubber boots and pajama bottoms. Or my brother’s coat, which is too large for me.
I love cold ears from time spent outside.
I love the feel of my foot landing in a half-frozen puddle of slop.
I even love the part where my saliva turns to a thinkish goop and feels weird in the back of my throat from the brisk winter air. Then I spit. It’s what happens when I run down driveways in the winter.
It’s a beautiful life, outside.