Clear eyes. Heart full of love.

K and I hurried out the door this morning, wanting to have some time in the sun before the storm hit. Foreboding skies met us.

K gazed at the wondrous sky as we walked side-by-side.

I was working on a decision and talked with her about it. She looked at me intensely, telling me that she trusted me. She also told me that the most important thing to her was a life full of love. She didn't care if she could run like the wind or go on long adventures. She just wanted to be by my side.

Then, to demonstrate her defiance of cancer or other adversity, she stood proudly atop a boulder. This one is for the Herd!

Later, the storm enveloped our world. The storm clouds hid the Divide while R searched for phantom rodents who are tucked away deep in their dens.

Then, the snow started to fly as we descended. If we get enough snow, R might be able to leave behind the muzzle because the mushrooms will be buried!

Winter has dethroned autumn.

As I rode, I thought about how mountain biking in the snow resembles the decision about K's treatment. I can't see what's below the snow - slippery rocks, treacherous roots, or even logs. Yet, I trust myself to react at the instant that I encounter an obstacle and stay upright. I can't plan ahead because the path is snow-covered and unknown. I thought about how I needed to trust myself the same way in the decision about K's treatment.

A little further along, when R was safe at home, I pedaled silently through the snow with blizzard-like visibility. Ahead of me, a cat appeared out of the white curtain walking toward me. At first, he looked so big that I thought that he might be a lion. Then, he turned tail and bounded up a cliff. His short striped tail informed me that he was a bobcat. I looked at his tracks and pondered his amazing athleticism. I assumed that he was long gone by then.

My eyes followed his tracks up the boulders. To my utter surprise, at the end of the tracks, the bobcat himself stood defiantly at the top of the slope watching me. Our eyes locked in mutual amazement. For an instant, I was afraid. He looked huge on top of the slope, and he wasn't fleeing. Then, I reminded myself that he couldn't possibly weigh more than 30 lbs at maximum, and I relaxed to enjoy the moment.

He glanced away for an instant, and I thought that he was about to flee.

But, instead, he turned back to me. His eyes seemed bottomless, so full of life and defiance of nature's harshness. He seemed curious about me.

 

Then, too soon, he turned his tail toward me and sauntered up the hill out of sight. I knew that I'd just experienced a rare and special moment in the forest that I'll never forget.

I arrived home covered in snow. I warmed up, and then had another phone consultation about K. The decision is made - her toe will be amputated on Thursday. Regardless of what they find, I know that I've made this decision with K's best interest dominating my thoughts. 

Clear eyes and a heart full of love.