Yesterday was the first day of Spring. The Equinox. Y’know, balance of light and dark and what-have-you. Usually I come up with some elaborate celebration that involves fires and ceremony and all that.
This year I didn’t plan anything. Not purposely, mind you, but because it kinda snuck up on me. What ended up happening? French toast breakfast, motorcycle to the lake, hang out in the forest all day, ride back through the mountains, glorious BBQ chicken dinner, fall into bed exhausted.
(A special thank you to Sante, who rode all over the mountains, through trees and on bumpy roads just to make me happy. Well, and I think he likes it too. You rule.)
I’ve never been one for planning, unless it’s something I think is really important. But lately I’ve been learning that importance is relative. And you should never take yourself too seriously.