good friends and snow

I spent a good bit of time outside today, amongst my tree friends in the San Juan National Forest, which is half a mile from my new house. Along with Montana and Cyan (human and dog, respectively), I traversed logs over a sparkly creek and meandered along its bed to the base of the la plata mountains, where i stood in reverence at the flake-filled sky. The ground beneath us had gathered over 10 inches of snowfall, and the sky promised more. Given that fire season was declared in mid February here, every tree, shrub, wild animal and forest home gave thanks to the heavens for the ceaseless precipitation. In fact, most of town slowed down in gratitude, in seemed, despite the joy many of us had expressed at the early spring last weekend (where i went home sunburned after hiking sleeveless through the mountains).

i don't know how much i've expressed this, but living out here in the mountains, living here in the desert, living creekside and in constant awareness of the elements, one develops a deeper awareness of how meek we are as human beings, how, regardless of our thoughts or desires or power to control events, we are at the mercy of the elements. There is always something bigger going on, and all you have to do here to notice this is look up. even in san francisco, where every evening the cold ocean currents and the bay catalyze a dramatic interplay between heat and moisture resulting in cascading fog, it's easy to get lost in the billboards, the traffic, the good ethiopian food, or the cute mission street boutique. here, if you're not outside facing the elements, you're inside, facing your internal elements. there's no disguising that the weather reflects the emotions within.

this winter has been fear-producing. no rain has produced the threat of drought. the lack of moisture in the earth mixed with relentless wind has stirred dust to epic proportions of confusion and lack of clarity. we've all been wandering, lost and thirsty, vision impeded, for months now. does it sound familiar to you, when you reach deep inside?

well, snow brings with it faith. Not only does it lay a blanket down, quieting the restless nature of the mind, but it also calls forth possibility and intention. because snow doesn't result in immediate fertility. we actually get to choose, you see, we get to choose what we want to plant, and the promise of snow is moist soil that will transform possibility and intention into action.

show me a sidewalk that makes the same promise, and i'll show you joy in every soul.