It was a repeat of my Christmas-travel sessions: a brief excursion that required a hotel stay, breaking up a couple weeks of hermit-yoga at the beach trailer. And it was, also, as outwardly dull as before, being almost totally unnotable but for its technical "wandering" on my part. Really, this outing was about identical to the last, except I went south instead of north, and there was no Christmas waiting for me at the end.
This time, however, I'll make an admission: I had no excuse to yoga inside. Those three days, it was beautiful and sunny. It was unseasonably warm. The hotel had a perfectly yoga-friendly lawn, and there were no ghouls or gunfights or booby traps in evidence. I simply gave in to the reclusiveness inspired by my less-than-perfect health and, thus, stayed inside, denying the world my yoga (you guys are just heartbroken, I'm sure). Trifling as it all is, I can't help but feel I've failed at something, if only to overcome my present tendency to absent myself from the outside world.
Ah, well. Have a pretty picture I snapped the other day, then. I know it's no substitute for seeing my glorious yoga, but it'll have to do.
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