At the last minute, we decide to go. Halfway there, the clouds burst forth with an arcane desire to shower us, then dump on us. We didn’t bother to check the weather report before heading out…
Two hours later, we wind up the long mountain road outside Trinidad, CO, curving through groves of aspens (or are they birch?) and evergreens. We always manage to arrive at our destination just as the sun is slowly saying goodbye in its summertime way–blushing upon tips of trees, ardor in its glances at the wildflowers.
The warm morning sun at my back, birds rejoicing above our mountain neighbors, a nearby stream rushing in the glory of last night’s rain. Light skips across the trees, kissing them here and there. Sprockett tags along behind me, sniffing, scrounging, licking everything new.
My husband slumbers, nestled in a cocoon of quilts trying to sleep off a restless night of thunder and bright light purged by the rain clouds. I question if I’ve ever heard such a loud thunderstorm. Perhaps being that much closer to the sky is the answer.
A tiny stream is plenty happy this morning, running and splashing over a wall, skipping its way between moss-ridden stones and wild columbines. Joy scribbles itself upon me from the inside out. I know of no other beauty in the world than that of God smiling at me through water and wildflowers. I squeal and Sprockett looks at me from the other side of the creek. I tell him to “stay”, not wanting any foliage to lose its life on his behalf.
I wonder how there can be any turmoil in the world when there is so much peace up here?