From time to time, mother nature reminds me how miraculous the universe is. I’m in continuous awe that the Northern Lights or that bio-luminescent creatures that light up the ocean when rain falls are things that exist. And this weekend, a million tiny bits of rock will fall from the sky from the Orion constellation, and as they burn up we’ll watch quickly fleeting streaks of light in the sky on which we will make wishes while I laugh with friends in celebration of 25 beautiful years of life.
There are a handful of times tied for “the coldest I’ve ever been.” There was the time I willingly jumped in an icy January pond in the mountains in a newspaper dress (for charity!), or the time I missed the last bus back from the grocery store and walked back four miles with a stranger on the slippery sidewalk, ill prepared in the 10 degree snowstorm. And there was the time I spent a weekend in West Virginia horseback riding through the mountains. It was a surprise trip for which we were given a packing list and no other information. The packing list included a bathing suit, camping gear, and a warm coat, and we had absolutely no idea where we were going. But we drove through the dark and I fell asleep in the car, waking up in a national park in West Virginia.
It was late November, and there’d been a serious drought for months. The normal camping ritual of cooking our meals on the fire as we sat around with guitars and beer had been banned, and it’s place we put on tons and tons of socks and layers and crawled into our tents. About midnight, we were woken up by someone who had read there was a meteor shower that night. We put on our shoes and coats and started walking through the park until we found a giant hill with no trees. We were so, so cold and sharing blankets and body heat, we layed on the ground and stared up at the sky. Miles and miles and miles from anything with not even the light from a banned campfire, it was the most brilliant display of nature I could ever hope to see. A million tiny lights quick and bright flashed in the sky like fireflies or flashbulbs or some other thing that has lots of lights.
We stayed for an hour or two, shaking from the cold and still gasping each time a new light appeared to us for just a second. There are discoveries and beauty beyond which we can even comprehend. We have enough. This world is enough, you are made of that world, and you are enough.
Page 1 of 1