From Red, to White, to There Ain't No Cure for the Wintertime Blues…

“… free in her wildness, she is a wanderess, a drop of free water. She knows nothing of borders and cares nothing for rules or customs. Her life flows clean, with passion, like fresh water. Time… isn’t something to fight against." (Roman Payne)


From Lovely Ouray, Colorado: Oh to be like "her." Indeed, it's about time I befriend "Time." It is far less enemy than my attitude. What difference is made by fools who rage against wind… Winter... or Time? 

Time is s-l-o-w like a tortoise in Winter, I track it on iCal while home in Lovely Ouray… crossing off days and shoveling White Plague from deck and drive. Yes, I climb aboard the tortoise' back, to "slow ride," to smell "roses," only to watch summer grass and old friends wither and die underfoot. Roses don't grow in Wintertime, fool, and Father Time doesn't wait on fools to be enlightened. 

Nietzsche's take on Winter:
"Winter, a wicked guest, sitting at home with me; my hands are blue from the handshake of his friendship. I honor the wicked guest, but I like to let him sit alone. I like to run away from him; and if one runs well, one escapes him.  With warm feet and warm thoughts I run where the wind stands still, to the sunny nook of my mount of olives. There I laugh at my severe guest and am still well disposed toward him for catching the flies at home and for silencing much small noise. 

Whom ever I love, I love better in Winter than in summer; I mock my enemies better and more heartily since Winter dwells in my home… and if I ever lie, I lie out of love."   

This post is surrendered from my comfortable, hearth-warmed Lazy Boy in Lovely Ouray, Colorado. Another fairytale-come-true fall tour in the land of Zion has passed from the NOW to fond memory. Goldie rests in storage near Virgin, all winterized and ready to go again come January something-or-other. It sounds so far off in the future, then again, so did Orwell's 1984 once upon a time.  

Holidays are passable, what with snowshoeing, entertaining family and guests, and making preparations for Santa's imminent arrival. Football and Food and Bailey's Irish Cream sustains us through Winter's shortest days and longest nights. I wear the White Plague with pride, as a Badge of Courage, but do so with a bit of a grimace. 

I take some pleasure in looking forward to Holidays, you know, guiltlessly putting on the usual five (ten, actually) pounds from all the highly sweetened, partially hydrogenated lard… embracing assorted carcinogenic charcoaled meats…  as well as eschewing sobriety, exercise, and wellness in general :).  

I have a couple more posts from the Crimson and Clover of Zion, then, with all the "shock and awe" of modern warfare, will abruptly transition to the harsh but beautiful realities of winter that lies just beyond Imax Windows in the great outdoors. 
   

Below is yet another hike in some nameless, trail-less canyon, and we had it all to ourselves. It's good to know that one can still have solitude in Zion National Park these days…  if they think just a little out-of-the-box.