Road Canyon Reservoir a week ago. Now the surface has formed ice thick enough to support our weight as we skated under the light of the moon.
Our lives are as special as we make them. Every day we have the choice to make the most of ourselves, of the world around us, of the situation we have created or found ourselves in. It’s a matter of perception. Do we take the time to look, to really examine the picture before us, to find that beauty? It there, isn’t it?
Even in hard times, there is beauty to be found. I know sometimes you have to dig deeper to find light in a big heap of darkness. But it is there, it must be there. Sometimes it is quiet and hidden and barely visible. No more than the muffled light of the moon hazily reflecting back on the opaque surface of a frozen lake.
I thought about all of this as I lay bundled up like the Michelin Man next to Alan in the back of our off-road vehicle last night. Yes, it was cold. Very cold. I didn’t look at the thermometer when we left, but it was only two degrees last I checked. And then there was the wind chill factor. That was definitely a factor. We have no windshield in that vehicle. Nor side windows. Lots of fresh air. We donned our snowmobile helmets and goggles in place of those precious pieces of glass. I’m sure we were a sight to see.
All this to check the mail. Two and half hours of freezing cold under the light of the big moon, driving up and down the bumpy dirt and snowpacked road to get to our mail box at the edge of pavement and just past the nearest human being, the first cabin around with signs of life.
All this to check the mail? No, of course it was about so much more. About making the most of our lives. About finding adventure in the day to day. About living just a little more. We could have just slipped on boots and jackets and sat up in our comfy pickup with heat and windows. But where would the sense of adventure have been? What would have been special about that?
Instead we found ourselves bundled up to the max, then wrapped in blankets even further. Of course we brought Alan our shepherd with us. He too was wrapped in blankets, and content to remain burrowed deep beneath and out of that frigid wind.
Along the way we stopped the truck beside Road Canyon Reservoir, a small man made lake along our road. The surface was frozen, still freezing, still somewhat alive with the process of changing form from liquid to solid as the water too begins a hibernation of sorts. Movement of the heavy forming freezing layer could be heard in the hollow reverberations, of the “whale call,” echoing through the frozen waters and against the surrounding cliff walls, sounding more eerie still as we listen while standing under the diffused moonlight when the night air seems so much more silent, so much more far away from the rest of the world.
Out on the ice, under the silvery light of the moon, in that frigid night air, we slid together, in our boots and bulk and heavy loads worn upon us, yet somehow lightening within us. Slipping with ease and intention on that evenly glassed surface. With the world still and frozen and silent around us. And the infinite stars above, looking down at us perhaps, laughing.