Fresh Breathing

Some of the best moments of life can return from our memory reservoir through simple action.

Tonight, the stars gave a clear "Hello" as the temperature plummeted and the moon rose with class and stock. Eben was begging for a walk, so we stepped into the cold with audacity: we would defy the winters bone.

It was here, this moment, that Michigan returned in all her splendor. You see, on the coldest nights of winter in Michigan, not a cloud is in the sky and the moon provides secondary lighting bright enough for an evening stroll. And if your brave enough to face the cold, the snow will crunch under your feet with a furry unexplainable and sacred. As you wander into the wilderness, the friends you meet, exposed by the free flashlight, will share silently a piece of their freedom and space. They will flee, carrying the burden of loosing their family to a brutal and ruthless food chain we've titled "hunting".

You are a stranger in their home.

Your shadow is clear and keeps step with you, sharing your company, remaining the true foreigner that won't come home with you. Each deep breath fills your lungs with crystal, almost painful, yet refreshingly elegant. From a distance, your easily mistaken for a smoker and attempt rings in the moment of opportunity.

It was this memory that flooded the gates tonight. This memory is precious and delicate to me, and so many others like it. Words can't validate their being, but the fresh air is a plus.