Summer

I wake up early so as not to disturb.

Sneaking downstairs, I quickly don a jacket and sandals. I take one last listen. No little feet up yet. I slip out the door. The wet grass is cool and course. I head across the long expanse of land to the glistening water. The sun is just peaking over the horizon. The sky is pale and warmly welcoming through the hazy lake mist. I am here, alone, peaceful.

My relationship with water has always been a complex one. From that first dunk in the bathtub by my Sis to more memorable swims during my battles with large and scary rapids and to my recent love of ocean moods ~ the worse, the better ~ I am always calmed, pacified, energized, mesmerized, awestruck, intimidated, and/or moved by my experiences with water.

I can't help but think about the times I have been totally at peace. Each one of those times involved fire, sky, water, or earth. The times I have been totally terrified involved crazed poisonous insects, troubled humans, lack of cell phone service, a certain hiding place in Boulder Public Library, or any and all horror flicks (even the previews give me nightmares). I guess at my elemental core, I am most happy while engaged in the natural and unadulterated world.

How this jives with medicine, I will wonder in a couple years when I haven't seen the light of day in 36 hours. Yet, during this summer with my family, I am finding those moments, filling up my peace quota, and even saving some for later.