Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Eight, maybe nine years ago, I was frustrated with my sons. Both were deep into gaming, spending hour after hour on their computers. I didn't understand how they could sit like that, hours at a time, staring at a screen, their fingers moving quickly on the keys to operate the character they'd created within the game. I would call them to lunch or dinner and hear, "It'll be a bit. I'm in the middle of a game!" I didn't understand why they couldn't just pause it and come eat the meal I had spent time making. I would ask them to complete a chore I'd asked them to do two days before. Again, it would be, "I can't. I'm in the middle of something here!" I would get angry. One day, I'd reached that moment a lot of parents reach: I thought I had failed. In being supportive of their love for gaming, in allowing them to buy games labeled "Mature" when they weren't able to buy the games themselves I'd enabled a behavior ...

Another morning with mist rising up from the bottom of the hillside. As Ado and I walked down the hill, I looked behind us and could see our footsteps in the soggy grass. My shoes soaked through from the dew and sloshed with each step. On cool days like this, Ado likes to walk faster and is even playful. He'll turn towards me then jump ahead as if he wants to run. He'll turn back to me and grab at his leash, take hold of it and begin prancing along as if he's taking me on a walk. Such a difference from the hot, humid days of summer when he drags himself along behind me. When we reached the bottom of the hill, we walked around the patch of wildflowers. The spider webs adorning the goldenrod and thistles stood out, the mist having covered them. I really wanted to hang around and see what everything looked like when the sun finally made it above the trees, but I had to be at work a bit earlier than usual since I'd been asked to do a short thesis workshop in a history...