Thursday, November 15, 2012

Silent Communion


Tonight, I looked down into the growing dusk over Montana and saw a single tiny light burning amidst a vast expanse of snow.  It sat in the middle of dormant fields, wrapped around by the darker tendrils of a rough-hewn river system.  Five minutes later, another slides by, a fiercely orange pinprick of civilization alone in the wilderness of Western America.

Who are these lonely sentinels of the wilderness?  I hope they sit warm and content within their domains, no matter the frozen lands around, and I think how lovely silent it could be, alone in the snow and nothing to see but the land, the stars, and the planes passing by above.


Presentations and networking done, I am homeward bound through the night, pulled by the stream of pictures from home that trickled into my phone across the morning, images of my smiling daughter playing, laughing, sleeping, happy in Ananya's arms.  Tonight will be late and hard, gliding into Boston well past midnight, with an internal proposal deadline still to hit tomorrow.  But I wouldn't give it up for the world.  Just sometimes, looking down, I think how nice it would be to spend a month in a cabin in the wilderness, and just let everything stop for a while.
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