Something Small

Sometimes I read the latest news reports and wonder how a person can engage with the darkness of this world and move with something other than despair? 

The news swells in my head like a colorless fog. And I'll walk around filled up with it, or sink into a swamp. 

But in the end I make a conscious, or somewhat conscious, decision I'll make to stand still and pay attention to something small. The sweet smell of soap, or eating sliced apples with my kid. 

And it connects to me, this small thing, whatever it is. The tie between us like the filament in a lightbulb. It offers a sort of comfort. Allows a kind of goodness to grow again in my brain. 

And after a while, sometimes a long while, the just darkness just doesn't feel so close.

Sky Watching

 Outside Lincoln, NE - December 13, 2012

Sunsets are oftentimes the most remarkable feature of the Midwestern landscape. This one followed me all way home yesterday.

Still Open - Just Moving

http://adrianlovesowls.blogspot.com/

Pepe's Vegetarian Bistro, home of the best tacos in town, is still open Havelock through December.

Owner Pepe Ferito hopes to throw open his doors in a new location (Indian Village at 13th and High streets) on January 4 but guessed it will be February before it happens.

Through December, though, the Havelock location is taking things down, moving things around, but they're still cookin'.

Stop by.
Eat tacos.
You'll be glad you did.

Winter Morning

Freezing cold. No snow. These winter mornings have a bright moon. A blue light that comes up from ground. Vapor that comes from breathing. A hard skin of ice on my windshield just from standing still.

Sunday

"Sometimes I have loved the peacefulness of an ordinary Sunday. It is like standing in a newly planted garden after a warm rain. You can feel the silent and invisible life. All it needs from you is that you take care not to trample on it." 

– Marilynn Robinson, Gilead (2004)

Expansive Sky

It was unseasonably warm today so I went for a hike. This time of year the most striking feature of the Midwest is, without a doubt, its expansive sky. 

I like hiking. My mind works better when I'm moving. I like the way I'll fling ideas around, or just listen to the world outside of myself. This hike was a lovely moment, filled with open thinking, surrounded by greenness. 

As I've grown older I'll shut down certain thoughts as impossible or unthinkable. No. No. Can't. Can't. I'll clam up a good idea before it even gets the chance to fully form. 

So I like hiking. It gets me outside of the usual confines. That wide open sky helps me examine how big I can dream something. From that space no idea sounds too terribly silly or overly-remarkable.

Fog Drip

My Morning Run