Fearless

I love snow. Snow angels, snowball fights, snowman-building and sledging. After spending a lot of yeaterday afternoon whistling down the hill on a plastic sack stuffed with newspaper, always just-once-more away from giving up and going in to get warm, I found that my favourite way was to lie on my back hugging my knees, gazing at the sky and just feeling the world whiz past me. The flat grey sky lulled my half-frozen mind into a sort of meditative state where I was experiencing the sensation of the fall to the full, but wasn't trying to control it in any way. Forgetting unexpected mole-hills and the fence at the bottom, I put myself entirely at the mercy of chance. A little earlier, Tim and I had attempted a Red Arrows-style crossing using intersecting toboggan runs, but I'd been too nervous, sitting up straight and foot-braking unconciously. On the last one-more-for-luck run, I was swooping down the hill in my zen-like state when I heard a yell, and Tim sped past just above my head. A perfect crossing.

Today I walked alone in the snowy woods as dusk was gathering, when I realised that I was not afraid. This was so surprising to me, I felt for a few moments as if I had actually been shot as I entered the wood - I had heard a nearby gunshot from hunters after deer or pheasants - and as though I'd been bleeding my life away until I was just a ghost walking through the trees. I felt alert and joyful, and realised that it is in the narrow territory that is being adventurous, but not to the point of stupidity or fearfulness, that I feel most completely alive.