Another season.  A dramatic shift, yet so often I don’t recognize it.  Pain has subsided.  Nature surrounds in me in new and glorious ways.  Yet I am not articulating an overwhelming joy.  Instead, I am skiing.  I don’t know the purpose of the aspens, I can’t put words to the beauty of a sunset on a snow-covered peak.  I am busy skiing, being active among the aspens and the peaks.  I’m wrangling kids in and out of layers and gear, facilitating their experience of the aspens and the peaks.  I’m healing.  Not by using words to climb out of whatever pit I’m in, but simply by accepting the gift of sport, of activity, of adrenaline, of a pause to the depth of my thoughts.  This new season – I’m coasting, I’m sailing.  I caught a breeze that is carrying me.  Gravity takes me.  For a moment (the moment after dressing the kids), things felt effortless and in sync.  My thinking brain returns.  I know this won’t last forever.  It is a season.  The last time I relished in an overwhelming, inexplicable, lack-of-words joy (Harris Beach, OR), my dad died a few weeks later.  But a dear friend reminded me that those moments help us remember what to get back to; what’s possible.  So here we are again: kids thriving, adults having fun, worries far away, healing, presence, attention.  A season…one season of many.