Keily climbs to get away from the noise. On a limestone rockface she finds a small pink current bush. A few leafy twigs; twisting roots gripping for purchase and nutrition in solid rock. Yet brimming with fruit. ‘Living on a ledge,’ she thinks, ‘hardcore!’ Keily eats a berry, unable to pass up the opportunity. It’s tart and strangely herbal. “Not a flavor for everyone,” she muses, and that makes her like it more. Keily takes in the world from the eyes of her new friend. “We’re the same, little plant.”
Night’s quieter out here, kid. The desert listens and you can hear the universe. More stars come out than you’ve ever seen, going on forever. All those dots and feels like we’re just one of them. But take a closer look. That one dot’s really a thousand more, each a different colorful character. We’re all more than a mere speck in space. Every bit unique and we get to be a part of it.
“It’s not lazy! It’s strategy!” Runa insisted. “It’s too hot to do anything anyway.” Dagny just laughed; she didn’t need convincing. Runa tapped a makeshift beat; water splash snare, inner tube bass. “There’s no need to fear the heat. Summer’s gone in just a beat. Seize the day, get off your feet. Reapply. Relax. Repeat.” Dagny one-upped the absurdity with a second verse, a game continuing well past dinner time. “It’s time to get out,” Runa reluctantly noted, triggering the game’s response in unison: ”One! More! Time!”
There’s a reason few people make it to this spot. The trail is technical. The distance is fatiguing. We didn’t see anyone else all day – and that’s alright by us. This lake, this forest, this view: this is all ours today.
Making the first footsteps in fresh morning powder is an invigorating winter adventure. The only trail to follow is the one you left behind. With how much energy goes into the high knee trek and field navigation, finding new levels of inner calmness isn’t a benefit – it’s a requirement.
We’re moving before the sun clocks in. Seedlings cry of thirst in the nursery. Big trees act mature, but they’re happier with a song and some tending. Soil’s stiff and wants turned, but that tractor’s got more moods than the rest of ‘em. Everyone wants a little love in their own way. When the sun clocks out, we’ll get ours over a cold lemonade and gin rummy.
They’ve never met, yet these industrious adventurers recognize each other immediately. The reflected wanderlust uncanny—recreation bordering on compulsion. The planning: meticulous. The journey: arduous. But the experience is transcendent. Living the dream is more than plans can imagine. They exchange tales in a wave—and create a new one that will travel with them forever.
Climbing takes Trevor closer to the stars. He knows it’s nonsense, but it’s a fun thought. The stars paint pictures in Trevor’s mind—entertained; it’s an ancient game that connects us all. Explorers, fortunetellers, scientists, storytellers. Guiding us to new possibilities. Inspiring dreamers of every kind.
Long ago, the city tasked the Gargolope to defend its border. For centuries, he stared out at the dark forest—always ready to leap into action. The city has long forgotten him. The forest has not. Gently, patiently, the forest reached out to the champion with honeysuckle arms—entwining the Gargolope and pulling him to the forest’s protective darkness with a sweet embrace.
Today the mule deer family is teaching young Henry where food comes from. Food isn’t just a meal. It’s a connection with the land. It’s a labor of love to watch something small grow and mature. It’s a connection with all living things. We all need a lot of patience and love around us so we can grow and give some of ourselves to the world.
The Farm Hands at Work
There’s a lot to do on the farm. Our day starts before the sun comes up. The land needs tilled. The crops need care. Everything needs maintenance. We earn our time off. A game of gin and a glass of lemonade are what we look forward to after the grueling day.
The Lemon Harvest
The lemons are ripe and fragrant. Manny is here as he is every year when it’s time for the harvest—out in the orchard everyday. Rain or shine. One bushel at a time. Careful and efficient. Without Manny, the harvest would never be done.
Going to Market
Old Red and I have been bringing in the crops for 40 years. She might squeak and creak a bit—eh, we’re both getting that way. It’s hard work, but we got no complaints. Just happier being put to use, and Old Red’s that way too—load her up and she purrs like a kitten. I can always rely on Old Red—we don’t get there fast, but we get there. Old Red’s a good friend.
