It feels as if there is something that needs to be written today, some thought or phrase standing watch wordlessly outside this door. There are sentences lined up like soldiers to describe physical acts; of snow, mud, mountains, and there are words, ever more difficult to grasp, that speak of endorphins, of sweeping floorboards, of marching toward the screaming voice that is begging me to stop. Somewhere in this swirling chaos is a concise thought, but for today I'll embrace the chaos and just let it be.
Looking through the photographs I've taken over the last year I was struck by just how many of them were of the sky. On each weekend run I like to hold the camera at my waist, point it upward, and snap. That view of the world, in all of it's impracticality, speaks of possibility, of a life far greater than the one I have lived, and will forever bewilder and inspire me. I don't know the names or locations of the constellations, don't know where the planets might be found, but I can't imagine ever looking skyward, night time or day, and not standing in awe of how expansive it is, and how insignificant I am.
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