The Northern Rivers. The frosty steel talons of winter have slid down off the mountains and encased our chimney smoked valley in ice that glistens in the moonlight. In the darkest hours before dawn's rescue you can hear the boreal explosions of giant trees surrendering to the creeping menace. Or not. Actually, since Xmas, a cold day is anything less than 30degC, and rain exists only to push the humidity beyond 100%.
So, where are we? Live drifts by. Life goes on. We cope, we exist, we find the ingredients that concoct to bake our happiness in the oven of reality. Sometimes we have to reach into the past, sometimes we strive to interpret future fog, but without happiness life isn't worth living. We can't change other people, we shouldn't judge them, but we also oughtn't buy every story that will come back to burn us... Life is what you make it. be brave and grab what you know you can rely on.
It's like whisky. The excellent and the terrible are at least entertaining by their expression of experience. Settling for the smooth and comfortable is life destroying. Two thousand and fifteen is a year for reassessment and decisions. Roll on.
