I was thinking about W.S. Merwin's poem "For the Anniversary of my Death" this holiday weekend when I returned to the spot where almost exactly two years ago I broke my knee.
"ACL Hill," my skiing partners called it, or "the scene of the crime." It lies below this ridge in a lovely valley near Aspen:
In this case, while I know acutely the significance of the date (January 17), any particular impact blurs under layers of happier memories. I remain thankful for so much -- most recently happy times with friends, enjoying together natural beauty and relative good health.