It was a good birthday. 
I’ve not loved every birthday I’ve celebrated. My thirtieth made me feel pretty low, pretty old, pretty much in the middle of it and teetering. Looking back I don’t think the good feelings or the bad had much to do with the number as the circumstance, not that I’ve ever had it all that bad. 

That’s to say, now that I feel pretty damn good about where I am, what I’m doing, who I’m with, and where I’m going, a birthday feels like a fun little tradition I get to enjoy with pals, and not the solemn marking of days unto death. 

I quite like traditions, but I haven’t gotten many of them. The making of more, specific to this place, is a big goal of mine and ours.

One that emerged today that I quite like is the barefoot walking of the trails across the brook. On each person’s birthday, we oughta walk the woods without shoes. 
That won’t be so bad for Abby in July, or Will in August, or the soon to arrive human in September or October.

It wasn’t so bad for me today, but that likely won’t always be the case, and that’s why I like it.

It’s a bit of tradition with a bit of risk and a bit of humor. I hope it’s warm next April.