Cutest cuddlers in the WORLD!
Mountains for miles…
The Collegiate Peaks
East Buffalo Peak
I read somewhere that people should never be best friends with their spouse. If you dare choose such an arrangement, you’ll be sorely lacking a mate to discuss your spouse is the logic. Rule breaker that I am, I find this foolish, for neither I nor Greg has any problem with airing our grievances with one another. I firmly believe this is why our relationship works. We talk. We complain. We call each other out on our bullshit. We also pass the best small moments together: walking, talking, driving, sitting, listening, laughing, and dining. We have no secrets, tell no lies. I cannot imagine a better or more fulfilling way for us to live.
I am most reminded of this when we travel and have the great privilege of leaving the everyday, how I love to look upon the hubster’s face while he drives, handsome and wizened and curious. How all the questions bubble and pop to the surface. What is your opinion? How can we do and be better? Why do I keep making the same mistake? Couple that with senses heightened by experiencing the novel (at least to us), away from the work and noise of home, both the literal and figurative.
This holiday there were hours and hours floating and dreaming in the hot springs, in daylight and moonlight, senses tuned to the rush of water, gales of wind, and falling of snow. How wonderful that nothing is off-limits. No question or thought, because we are best friends, living in the world together. There are great stretches when not a single word is spoken nor needed and similar times when there are so very many: eloquent, jumbled, silly. All carry the same weight. The weight that is US.