You'd think each day repeats the previous one. I look out in the early morning: more snow covering the walkway, gray skies.
I throw a coat on and shovel the pathway.
Breakfast. You know how that goes: no sun? Eat at the kitchen table.
Yoga. I do an early morning class. It's tight, but I can do it on Mondays because I've had the weekend to get my classes ready.
After yoga -- well work, teach, work, work. Like for so many, Monday brings on the stresses of the week ahead. What yoga untangles, the work week throws back with a vengenace.
But, it's February. The days are longer. At the end of it all, when I leave campus, I see that the sun has pushed the clouds away (is that how it works?). Ski weather!
Even though we're near 5 pm, the sun is still above the horizon.
Our nearby trails are easy to get to. We keep the shoes and skis in the car. Within five minutes, we're on the trails.
Just a quick run. Less than an hour. Before the sun totally disappears.
So you think these days just repeat themselves: breakfast, yoga, work, ski, fish soup, sleep. And it's true. All days had these components to them. But each has its own magic. Tonight's stellar moments came after the ski run.
We're done. We throw our ski stuff in the hatch of the donkey car and head home. Dusk. This is the time to look around. The world is really pretty in the pink hues of a winter evening. And, yes. There are the deer.
I pull over the donkey car. We watch.
They scamper away.
Except for one. He (she?) goes in the opposite direction.
Hesitating, but not for long.
Meanwhile, the herd gathers by the clump of trees. One deer steps out. Greeting.
His love? She is interested. For sure.
They nuzzle, look out toward the world...
... and walk away. Into the forest.
We pull into our driveway. Home. Our own forest. Our magic. Our slice of heaven.
A day like the others, a day like no other.