Thanksgiving, Upside Down

Oh to do a headstand outside on Thanksgiving, at 4300 feet in Montana! My bare feet reach skyward towards the immense blue. The crown of my head roots on thin soil covering glacial till, dumped here 10,000 years ago by melting mile-deep ice.

If I tried this stunt in a "normal" year, my head and neck would be impaled in snow. But this warming world grows new surprises; and here I am, upside down, looking at the Absaroka Mountains, Livingston Peak drooping with a white nipple of snow, her shoulders draped with dark pine forests.

Here in Livingston, famed for its wind, there is no sound but for the goats grazing nearby and the whimpers of our yellow dog, Kiybu. She lies before me, chin height, twitching in dreams of deer chasing, though her chasing days are over.

With vast sky at my feet, this view is dreamlike too -- one that I'll try to hold as long as shoulders will allow. Headstand: my practice in seeing a world upside down, thankful and without fear.