many years ago I was bounding through the Rocky Mountain powder, delicately lifting alternate heels and licking fallen snow off my upper lip. it was brisk, well below zero, and my spirit lit brightly from the inside.

characteristically glad for the work, the cold, the burn, I grinned and as I crested a minor rise my tiny wise voice, who speaks so judiciously, said: 

the way, the truth, the light.

in this time of reconsideration, reconfiguration, and deepening of attunement I wish that you make like the sun, shining brighter every day.