Dear friend,
When Santy was alive, I didn’t really like going anywhere we couldn’t take her with us—not for too long anyway.
It was easier when she stayed with Jenny and Nonnie. She’d pine for a while, but she was so happy to be with Jenny and got on so well with the strange creature Nonnie was that I knew, in a way, she was content.
The dogs we’re looking after over the holidays are making Christmas an absolute delight. Dippa, in the car, started doing Chewbacca impressions, his face sticking between Chiara and me from his seat in the back with Zara.
We’ve got towels jammed over the rear passenger windows—a blue one on the right, an orange one on the left. They’re there to stop Zara barking at white vans, moped riders especially, and anyone else on the road she doesn’t like the look of.
It keeps her from barking near your ears. The back window’s uncovered, which is okay, because when she barks out the back, it doesn’t hurt your ears as much. Her bark is needle-pitched.
The two of them must’ve run for miles across the heath today, Dippa lolloping after Zara, scaring off squirrels and the mice she’s trying to hunt.
They’ve come in now to see what I’m up to, sitting at my desk, making my fingers dance in tiny patterns on the springy MacBook keys, traveling back to the morning in my mind.
Kevin and Peter’s Christmas gifts for Chiara and me arrived today.
They’d been held in customs, and I had to pay a fee to collect them.
Chiara’s was a beautiful jacket. Mine was a sky-blue leopard print beanie hat and a rock-and-roll tee. I took a photo, but it hasn’t updated in my laptop’s photos yet, so here’s a picture Chiara took of me and the two dogs yesterday—minus the hat.
Zara’s less keen on sharing the settee with Dippa, so I’m keeping the peace.
It was so beautiful in the woods today, in the mist.
A raven came and landed on a branch, staring at us.
It was framed by the woods and the mist.
Everywhere you look, you can see perfection—the trees and the ferns and the earth, the decaying leaves, and the raven, black as coal, magnificent, poised, and curious.
The rest of the day has been quiet: reading Yuval’s Nexus, the luxury of a bath, and a light evening meal.
Later, we’ll frame some family photos.
To my amazement, Zara and Dippa are playing a little on the rug.
It’s lovely to watch them work out their differences. A two-year-old and an eight-year-old—there’s a big age difference for dogs. Not everyone likes that teenage pup energy.
I also spent some time thinking about the year ahead, but it feels more in line to talk about that when we set off on our solar round trip.
Certainly, a lot has changed this year.
We can expect the rate of change to increase.
It feels inevitable, but also intentional.
All this talk of peace has an effect.
Especially when you realize you’re not acting alone.
Millions of people on Earth at this time are practicing kindness and forgiveness, looking for a better story to tell. Many have been doing so all their lives. Others, for generations.
We’re shifting ages.
We’re going through a technological revolution like no other before.
Think of it as a river journey—one we’ve been on for the longest time, and now we’ve reached the rapids.
Rapid evolution.
It feels relevant, if generations to come are to tell about the mist in the woods.
Or the stinging scorpions in the desert. Or the plain at twilight by the watering hole.
Or how it feels to be free.
At peace.
At home with yourself.
Connected.
Loved.
Lost in the mystery.
The mist.
In a wood.
Till tomorrow,
Love,
Mikey