I sat on a platform, eating rabbit kabobs on the side of a mountain. Behind me was a magnificent view of tea planations and forest, green as you only see in dreams of heaven. At least there would be a magnificent view, if I could see through walls. The other platforms were open to the view, but the wind was strong that afternoon and none of us had worn enough clothing, so we sat in an encased booth with only the fourth wall open, letting us watch the Bapak fan the kabobs currently residing over the grill fire.
Earlier we had been to a crater, standing in a fine mist that was not far from snow. I was in a thin cardigan and leggings. I've only been tired of cold weather one time in my life, and that was at the end of a 7 month, Minnesota winter. So I was not complaining at the winds or the chill that reminded me why I love winter. Instead I found excuses for talking, just so I could see the smoke my breath made as it left my mouth. And my soul rested within me, content. Content in the green, and the cold. In the fried tofu, steaming hot, and the cup of coffee from a mix. In the jokes of my friends, going back and forth between us.
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