I don't know about you but there is something about the baby floating on a river in a plastic bag story that moves me like nothing else. The luck that each and every one of us has of being delivered safely into this world can never be more heavily stated than in moments like these. The chances of survival for the little brazilian were scant. Yet the bag floated. The bag stuck to the wood. Her cries were heard by someone curious enough to be moved to bring her to shore. By someone curious enough to open the bag. By someone courageous enough to get her to a hospital.
On Friday, before leaving for my little snowy break, I watched the Italian news and the outrageous story of the 50 year old woman who had been locked in a bathroom for 30 years of her life by a family ashamed of her disability.
At La Bresse, in the Vosges, I chose not to ski but I went on a solo hike up the mountain on the racquet route. At one point I was alone up there surrounded by the muffled silence of snow and trees playing with the wind. It also takes pauses like these to appreciate the beauty of life.
There. Now let's get back to blogging.