Today, while strolling up a dirt road in Osh, I was reminded of why I love living here. A gray-bearded, rope wielding, elfin looking man walked passed me, flogging his horned goats to pasture. It wasn’t simply bearing witness to this act which made me reflect on my surroundings, there was something else too…
We had our first frost this morning. The air was clearer than usual and the morning sun glittered off the crystal glazed silver earth. It reminded me of those first few frozen mornings of Minnesota winter, when I’d walk out to my car and notice the sun’s rays passing through a tree’s dark, barren branches—those stark, textured skeletons reaching skyward like the knobby fingers of a cackling witch suddenly enveloped in white light.
Everything becomes so clear and captured in those cold mornings that we can see our own breath, feel our eyes glaze with tears and our cheeks turn ruddy with blood. These are the mornings when we understand poetry and appreciate song. These are the mornings when life seems more valuable than the things we’ve amassed. These are the mornings when we understand why we are alive.
Enjoy them. I know I do.