Human wheels

I never really enjoyed the fall season before. It was simply a buffer between two extremes, and for much of my life, I've lived as if the extremes were the only thing worth experiencing. The hottest, the coldest, the most, the least, the highest... you get the idea. Driving home last night, the evening was anything but extreme, unless you consider it "extremely mild." No blazing sun, no numbing cold; and it was an astounding night.

I must confess, I've been reading a book lent to me by one of my customers, called: "The Tracker," by Tom Brown Jr. It's about a New Jersey boy who befriends a young American Indian and is mentored in tracking and outdoor life by his grandfather. It's filled my head with outdoor adventures and Brown Jr.'s pursuit and embrace of a spiritual connection to nature. I wouldn't say I'm converted, but it does divert my state of mind to a more reverent place regarding the Great Outdoors.

Getting back to last night: it was so placidly beautiful, I couldn't have dreamed up a more striking experience. The first storm of the season had just made its way through, and while the air was perfectly still and calm, I could watch the clouds continue their solemn patrol to the east, carrying their gray gloom and atmospheric power with them. Indeed, I had watched them from my car window as I drove, and I could scarcely stay behind the wheel and resist the urge to pull over on a hilltop and watch the show. Once home, I did just that - kissed my wife, grabbed a cold beer, and walked to the end of the largely-deserted street with the closest and best easterly view.

Along the way, the view of the sky delivered on its promise. As I walked, the rolling hills moved and turned around me; the clouds however, remained, with that glacial, implacable majesty that clouds always have about them. At once streaking through the sky at jetliner speeds, while seeming to remain perfectly still. Only comparing them against the crescent moon's gleaming west surface betrayed that they wheeled by on their way to drench the Sierra Nevada mountains.

There was definitely something in the air last night, and the cosmos bombarded me with wordless thoughts. Whispering to me about the flow of time, the flow of life, my own mortality, the enormousness and smallness all around us, my head, my senses, my entire body was on a magnetic swivel, trying to accept all the input.

Magical!