This weekend I celebrated my thirty-seventh birthday. Birthdays that fall on the weekend are the best kind of wonderful. Children make homemade gifts and do their best to behave, and husbands clean kitchens and bake knock-off Starbucks peppermint brownies. It so beats having a birthday on a Tuesday.
We crammed heaps of my favorite things into three days, one of which was a hike in the nearby forest. We started out under a cotton ball sky and walked down to a creek bed filled with ice and moss draped stones.
This year has been one big hike after another. Great beauty in the midst of dodging heaping piles of poo. A few smacks to the head, but lungs filled to bursting with fresh air. A scare or two. But, overall it’s been one of movement, of life flowing fast between the crags of rocks and ice.
Forward movement. It’s not without fear or wrestling or heart stopping moments in which you’re scared you might lose your balance. I have and I will again. But, I find myself still seeking out the rickety bridges and steep slopes. And taking them slowly, one step at a time.