To get from my house to a paved and cleared road, requires covering the long downhill curving driveway with woods on either side, followed by a hard right onto a second dirt road. Should one slide straight across this fork while trying to turn, one enters the woods airborne and enjoys a three to four foot drop when a tree finally intervenes.
The second dirt road leads across a curving dam with a pond on one side and drop-with-creek-and-woods-at-the-bottom on the other.
Next is the winding uphill for another half mile, followed by a turn onto a paved-but-not-scraped lane, and then a three mile paved-but-not-scraped country highway.
I've never gotten around to getting a four-wheel drive -- it freezes here so rarely -- so it's just me and the dainty floral Carmella Camry making this trip. I take a fairly conservative approach. Not what anyone would call bold.
As usual, I consider this minor matter a metaphor for larger decisions. At what point, does cabin fever trump risk? When do the risks outweigh the gains? Well, it's almost never clear. So we just decide and act and, ideally, don't look back.
It's the hidden boldness of daily life, these little decisions.
