A chill is in the air on this early Christmas morning. Coffee in hand, I head out as dawn breaks to take a walk through a nearby field. Looking out on gray skies, the field itself filled with dreary tans and browns with no snow to brighten things up, the scenery before me seems dreary. Crunching over frozen switch grass and slopping through mud puddles, I continue walking as black-capped chickadees follow me along the tree line, chick-a-dee-dee-dee’ing. Stopping from time to
Perspective. It is all in how you view things. I have had a recurring dream for years. Decades actually. A dark muddy path with trees on each side creating a canopy overhead. Dark. It is so very dark and the mud so thick that you can barely move though it; it pulls at your feet, causing you to stumble and fall. Try as I might, I continue to struggle to run while dark arms reach out from the trees, grasping at me. In my mind I scream, if I can only get to the end of this road.