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We enjoyed ourselves immensely, deeply. There is nothing to do in Lava but soak and loll. Somehow, this works a magic on us as no other place. It's cold, at night bitterly even with all towels over the windows in the 90 year old hotel. We leave our room door open, and the large house dog comes in to perform his rounds. Some sort of great dane shepard mix perhaps. Benign, not pushy. D reads the last Pratchett novel, and I enjoy their new wifi, on his computer, unable to remember my password to post here. I drink hot tea-flavored water and slow down.

I padded out through the frigid air to soak in the outside barrel, black water under a black sky, with a lit up L seemingly floating in the air, actually on the invisible night mountain.

We eat mild trucked-in food, iceberg lettuce, patty melts, pizza, thin burgers, leave Boston tips. D finds a ring nearly identical to the Kokopelli band that was my wedding ring - at the place that has the blankets and pelts and cowboy hats. I'd accidentally lost the first at work a decade ago. Idaho is a strange place of extreme beauty and bizarre kitsch, pockets of wonder in a fake fur coat.

The middle day, we went to the large springs, boiled and chilled. While floating, I had no pain in my back at all. I finally laid on the submerged steps in the hottest pool, my head held just above the water, ears and eyes covered, snow pattering on my chest and thighs, chin and backs of my floating hands, listening only to my heartbeat, until my brain swirled. D had to get me dressed, so.