Here in Lake City

We've finally settled in one place--for about two months. From now until December 11, we're residing in Lake City where I (Emrys) am serving as stop-gap pastor to the Lake City Community Presbyterian Church.
The name "Lake City" is half misnomer. There is a lake here, but there ain't no city. The town's population is about 2000 in the summer and about 320 in the autumn and winter. We'll be here in the latter part of the year. Our experience here has caused us to redefine Durango as "the big city." (It has a Wal-Mart, after all.)
The fall colours are almost gone, with the huge sombre willows along the main drag providing the greatest resistance to the turning tide of winter. They still burn with a golden yellow, though their fire is spreading more and more to the yards and rooftops of the town. Way above us, the mountains have already donned their white caps and settled in for their long winter nap. The air nipped with the sharp teeth of Jack Frost for the first time today. It was cold enough for boots and mitts.
So Sara and I sit together in the 125-year-old dining room, our feet propped up next to the wood stove, and settle. The world is quiet here, and we like it. We could be settlers on the Western Slope at the end of the 19th century, were it not for the click-clack of my laptop keys and the screen displaying images conveyed by satellite internet. In spite of the technology, our evening is homey, a fitting piece of the tiny society called Lake City, where everyone knows your name and notices when you're not there. It will be a good two months.
Sara has finished her radiation, and we thank God every day for it. Her head grows stiffer and fuzzier with new hair, the blessed arrival proving the end of the ordeal. We're done with cancer and its treatments for a long, long time--at least among us. Friends and church members still suffer its ravages; I for one hope that our experience, though terrible, will afford more grace to others who will lean on us for support.
Even as we discover the life of tiny town, Colorado, we make plans for the future. New Zealand has almost become a certainty for the new year: the money is in, my classes are booked, and we're on the cusp of having airline tickets in our hot little hands. Hobbiton, Milford Track, and sheep out the wazoo beckon us from the other side of the globe. The testimonies of friends who drool at the thought of that kiwi-land have whet our appetites for the trip. Almost too quickly, it will be here. Then to Prague and the allures of Europe. Then I shall have a call back in this country, and it will be finally time to settle down for a long time: no more stuff "in storage," no more wondering where we'll live next month.
The past has been rough, but the present is bright, and the future is warm. Hah! Life is good.