Good Morning

One of the things I love about Colorado is that she's got a place and a season for my every mood.

The temperature was in the low 40's this morning and the sky drippy and gray. I put on my favorite red flannel and my leather vest and headed out for a walk in the dim twilight of early morning. Except for the ubiquitous Spandex-clad joggers, Boulder was asleep. I walked along Boulder Creek, watching the canyon walls rise up around me and disappearing into the gray mist which hung over the valley like a lid.

I stopped near a stone bench with an inscription dedicating it to a 23 year old girl whose life was cut short. "I love my family, I love my friends, I love my life," it said. I stood there on a boulder in the creek between two sets of falls. I could hear the rain rustling dying leaves and I could feel it pattering on the sleeves of my shirt.

I stared into the chilly water. Trout drifted along the rocky bottom, and yellow aspen leaves drifted along the glassy top before being swept away over the falls. I stood there for a very long time, rain dripping off the brim of my hat, and feeling sad that the girl had to miss this moment.