Each morning, I make my way up Kennedy Hill in the pre-dawn stillness, with Rupert running ahead with barely contained excitement.

I settle into my spot overlooking the Centennial Valley, sitting cross-legged for my meditation. Before us, the landscape unfolds like a living painting – the serpentine river shrouded in morning fog, the cabins mere specks in the vastness, and the snow-capped mountain standing sentinel over it all.