There’s something really lovely…

about singing old camp songs at an Epiphany bonfire, with a gaggle of hippies.

I’m too tired to give context, much—I stood for longer than I have in six months, because the ground was mucky. I’m stiff already—but it was completely worth it.

It’s a Ranch extended-family thing; they’ve been doing it since the program director’s son was an infant, and he’s 12 now. They used to do it at the beach, but fires are illegal all over the Sonoma coast (to protect snowy plover habitat). So people brought their desiccated Christmas trees here, and we burned them, and sang old songs, and read Rumi. And ate. Bread, cheese, soup, wine. Mmmm.

I’ve been to Solstice bonfires. Hell, I lived in Olympia. Doing it for Epiphany, makes my inner Christian and pagan both happy.

This is a good life.

Speaking of endurance events... I've been thinking of doing the Relay for Life, to celebrate when I'm done with treatment. This summer would be a ridiculous time to add pledge-gathering to my plate, however. I still want to do it, but I can wait several months or a year.

I could celebrate earlier, by quietly walking to the river up here. You can see it from all the hills facing that direction, but I've never been. A friend told me it's about a 45-minute hike. She always moved faster than I do.

And I can do that whenever it strikes me. A call saying, "Hey, can I come up tomorrow," is enough advance planning. I love it here.

So much of my life is urban, and I really love it. But being up here feeds my soul, in ways I can't explain. My whole system was resetting, today. It wasn't just that I was tired, though I was. Or that it was a sick day, though it was. I couldn't stop sleeping. When awake, I breathed more deeply. I know I'm here for longer than a weekend--I think I'm settling back into the soil.

Mmm. Groundedness.