My heart breaks a little when we drive past the trees that have been killed from some strange beetle. These trees don’t belong here, so they didn’t survive. Sometimes transplants are not a good idea.
We pull through the last tunnel and turn into Dillon. I am always blown away by the vision. I could never live here, but I love the feelings I experience after the drive through the mountains. This year is especially lovely. The aspens are turning and I am so happy to see this.
We pull into the shopping center parking lot that I will forever associate with Jill. Standing proudly to the West of the shops is “my mountain.”
My mountain is different than the others. She is rounded and to my eyes a warm reddish hue. The other mountains are sharp and angled, somehow they seem to be imposing their will on the wind and the land.
My mountain is different, she is inviting. I feel like she is protecting us.
The clouds roll over these peaks casting long, dark shadows, while the sun seems determined to break through the gray.
This year my mountain is shrouded in a light, opaque haze. It’s from the smoke of distant wildfires. This week is better than other days recently. However, her red hue seems muted to the point of obliteration.
We meander over to a spot overlooking a cove on the lake. My friends’ effervescent giggles float in the wind up to my spot where I am sitting on what I think is a big piece of granite. The wind is slightly chilly, and the sun feels intrusive despite the shimmering diamonds it is dropping on the ripples of Lake Dillon.
I forgot my wallet. (Yes, I am well aware my friends would front me the money for lunch, but I am disgustingly embarrassed… I packed a whole bag for this adventure and forgot my wallet!)
I love my time in Colorado. I love spending time with these girls. I may even love the mild confusion I feel from the lack of oxygen at this elevation.
Already excited for next year. I suppose I left out the shenanigans. Guess you had to be here.