Ode to Colorado
This fall, I'm off on a new adventure: Scotland. But as I go about packing my bags and purchasing my rain boots, I've found myself aware of the gift that Colorado has been to me this year. Not just the people — although they are probably the greatest gift— but the place... the mountains, the seasons, the moods of the sky. It is a magical place. It deserves and Ode. So, tonight I wrote it one.
An Ode to Colorado
Oh, Colorado. I love your ways.
I love your casual magnificence, the way you brandish sunshine mountains and red rocked glory, even on a Tuesday.
Oh, Colorado. I love your untameableness, your proliferation of shy wild beasts. I love the feeling of never being quite safe, and yet being embraced in the glorious Other.
With you as my residence I feel associated with a power I cannot control, but one which deigns to endure me.
I love your blustering emotions poured out across the afternoon sky. The blistering heat of anger that cools in your marshmallow cloud rains.
I love you best in fall, and only better in summer.
I love your phasing flowers, the summer fields that fade from pink to blue to yellow.
I love when you slip into autumn for a day or two in August, just to sooth our sour, sweating souls.
I love the freckling sunshine that doesn’t outstay its welcome, allowing for Camelot rains.
I love when the awakening breath of autumn chill winds its way through the whistling pines. I love the dawn cold that smells like adventure.
I cherish the gaudy shimmer of the aspen trees dancing across the foothills.
I love the days when there’s nothing to do but listen to celtic music and eat apple muffins.
I even love your hateful winters. I begrudgingly thank you for unplanned snow days. Though I mope and stew, those days give time for thoughts to simmer and rise with a clarity as bright as the blinding snow. In winter, roots grow deep.
I love the eucatastrophe of your springtimes, the way they come in a sudden rush, like someone bursting from a closet to surprise you, scattering violets with every chuckle of self satisfaction.
I love the urgency of your summers, the aching feeling you must drink them up before the glass is dry, or frozen by winter.
And as I lay my head down tonight, witnessing the clashing flashes of lightning and grumbling explosions of thunder, I feel that same urgency. I am urgent with the desire to stand witness to your loveliness that I might not forget it when I’m gone.
The fragrance of falling rain fills my heart with rest and longing.
Wherever I go, thunder will make me think of my mountains.
I will miss you, Colorado.
And I’ll be back.