Cycles and Memories

The air outside carried a sharp chill that pierced through the skin even to the bone. No more days of passing warm fronts it seemed, but that was yet to be determined. Warm wool sweaters and socks, as well as fur-lined boots, were in order and because of that she barely noticed the bite of the cold. Gazing from the truck's window out at the passing fields, she relished the intensity of the grey weather.

Turning off of the road and onto the easement to their secluded hollow, it almost sickened her to be there. It was only because they couldn't live there, not yet. It was like a tease to them, dangling the near yet far off possibility of being "home". It was here where for almost a year now so much has happened.

As they climbed out of the truck, she remembered back to when she and him went on their first run together. It was mid-to-late December last year and the weather had yet to bring about snow. He pulled up in his truck that Saturday morning, dressed for the run. They both wore winter appropriate running gear all except for the shoes. No, they were both barefoot. This was due to the fact that she had encouraged him to read Born to Run, a book that inspired her to even start running once again after a year of its absence. It has inspired them and their friends to increase their distances, and even now it had inspired those two to run barefoot in the middle of winter.
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It was her first run in a year, that day back in December. Her health was better and she had learned from her mistakes. Now, she and him were running up the ridge, getting the best view of the beginning sunrise. The sky was pink as the sun began to rise. Run, she thought, and you'll be warm. It was as if they were Indians, it was as if they were the Tarahumara ("The Running Poeple"). She expected the run to be tougher than it was. Looking down, they saw their feet cross mud as well as frozen ground. Looking up, they saw the sun climb higher. The wind was in their hair.

They kept their eyes forward mostly, glancing at each other from time to time. Were they really doing this? Was it going to last? Their thoughts were not on the run. They spoke of running barefoot with children between them, he in the front  and she in the back. They spoke of work and home, of hopes and goals. Three days later they would tell each other those three words for the first time. 

She was back to the present now. Glancing back down the road of their little hollow, she sees changes in it. She and him are very mindful of the changes that occur in the hollow and on the trails. Seasonal plants are seasonal food, seasonal disarray may need seasonal repair. You are closer to the earth if you are living seasonally. 

"Cycles", he had once told her, "the Earth goes through cycles." He didn't even fully give faith into the claims of climate change and mans assumed part in it. No, this was all a part of the constant cycles and we are to live according to the cycles. They discussed logic and reason of science and faith, of Earth and divine intervention on many stormy evenings in the tent. The Tent Life was about preparing the way for The Nook Life such as him and his father making a road, but the Earth and its cycles are cruel and it was no simple task. 

On one of the few clear sky nights spent in the tent she laid awake beside him as he slept and heard footsteps of a large animal outside by their heads and was reminded of another on of Earth's cruel cycles. 

Now the road was better and The Nook moved. As she followed him into The Nook she was greeted by the progress he and his father had made. The wall behind the wood stove was almost finished and they had most of the pipe that was needed. She was so thankful for this journey. For The Healer's Nook, for him, for her new extended family...

For memories...

For all the opportunities that have came and would come.

They were thankful together.

​Happy Thanksgiving!