We drove home through falling snow tonight – real snow – not ice, not grapple, not nerve-wracking freezing rain. As my kid and I wound up our steep dirt road, the visibility diminished to just a blue twilight, white flakes and road, and my windshield wipers.
That narrow vision mimicked my day – both parenting and working. In my twenties, I would have raged; now in my forties, I still rage, but at least I’ve figured out the value of endurance.
Working in Greensboro today, I stopped by Caspian Lake, scene of so many swims, beach chat, peppermint ice cream cones. On camp stools, three ice fishermen sat in the lake’s middle, beneath the open sky.
Winter solitude —
In a world of one color
the sound of wind.
– Basho
