On Friday evening I had one of those runs that make everything feel beautiful and right. Weaving in and out of streams and bushes, hopping rocks, I sat on a boulder in the middle of the river at the halfway point, pulled off my shoes, soaked my feet, and threw back my head and laughed aloud. Golden evening light, wind in the oak branches, my skin flushed from effort.
I can certainly think of worse ways to die; most of us can only look forward to hospital beds. I'm not trying to trivialize the loss of a person by any means, but I think we should all hope to be so fortunate, at the very least, to go out doing something we love in a place that's meaningful to us. I'd wager that Caballo and those that knew him can find some solace in that.