The unconquerable orchestras of lightning, forking through clouds in the night, discharging feathers from pillows of the gods, as some slept soundly, while others frenetically composed symphonies of existence; and finally, wild inflamed lava, rising ...

Sparse green meadows dashed with yellow; clusters of bushy trees; changing into miniature forests, the smell of nettles layering the beds and the cool of shade. This was an invigorating run. Toward an invigorating place. I anticipated no haywire events pouncing out at us. No Running With the Devil today.

A year I could never have predicted in a bazillion years