The time came this morning after sleeping in, jogging, hitting the thrift stores (always relaxes me and I’m not certain why), and wandering aimlessly. I rolled my Schwinn Beach Cruiser backwards down the stairs and skidded across the parking area, down an alley and out onto Market Street. The traffic was mild and at a corner stop as I waited on cross traffic a truck driver attempted to wave me through the intersection. I waved him by back. He leaned out his window as he passed saying, “Well, I tried.” I nodded with a smile and cruised on towards Hawkins Preserve.
After I park my bike, I hike down the uneven terrain of mostly slick rock with islands of cryptogrammic soil to the edge of McElmo Creek Canyon. Mesa Verde stretches across the south like some snow covered snake which secretly holds ancient Puebloans deep inside its creases and folds: a python of history recently infested by pavement and park rangers.
Ute Mountain is to my right and does in silhouette resemble some sleeping giant of an Indian chief. He still keeps his blanket of snow tucked around his neck and across his belly. Locals know not to plant until the Ute takes off his blanket. It’ll be another week or two.
I eat my simple lunch- an orange and a paper bag full of cashews mixed with cinnamon coated almonds. It mixes well with the feather of cool wind curling over my shoulders. I enjoy the silent connect to nature. The juniper and scrub oak make good company.
Sometimes I forget how easy it is to recharge my spirit. A simple and time in nature does the trick. How lucky to be me.