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The Night Ride

Early this morning, the world from the third floor was white, a dense fog that gave way to brilliant and brief appearances of sun later in the afternoon, before clouding over. Tonight the air is bracing, and the dark night sky approaches a midnight blue shot full of snow-white clouds. Running a few errands, I catch glimpses of the weather drifting across Oregon.

Less than a hundred years ago my grandfather was on horseback, riding in from the family farm to court my grandmother at a dance in town. My grandfather would have had plenty of time to think and plan on his ride, and to feel and smell the earth, and see and hear the strong and delicate changes occurring all around him. Though American, he lived a life much like the outdoor life many Brits once lived – hard and exuberant and conducive to building a man's courage, resilience, and freedom, or a woman's.

I think about this while skimming a story online. A Telegraph reporter has been inspired by a British doctor to exercise whenever and wherever he can. As a result the Telegraph's man experiments with reading and writing while walking miles on a treadmill. He finds his energy increasing. He also manages to lose a few pounds. You can find the somewhat depressing story HERE >

Never mind losing pounds.

I'm losing the mysterious wild without even knowing it. The gifts it might bring me are lost, and I hardly know I'm missing them.

Once, Brits knew that wild mystery.

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