My apologies for the incomplete post sent to subscribers on Monday. Seems the pictures made it, the text got lost in cyber space. I am sorry for the mess up. Fortunately for me, I saved the text in a Word document, and was able to make the corrections. If you have not seen the proper post, please click here. Anyway, a good reminder to self: Back up, back up, back up…
Today our country heals. Months of negativity and division, for what? Really, I don’t get it. Enough! It’s over, folks. Our country spoke. We spoke. Accept it. Live with it. Love it or leave it, but stop complaining. I’m done with the negativity, and opinions and beliefs that are better kept private. (What you do behind closed doors is YOUR business. Please, can we keep it that way? I really don’t want to know…)
Time to move on. To good things. If you want them better, make them better. Stop whining. Bottom line. Wake up, smell the coffee and see the sunshine. Life is good.
Back to where I was before The Detour. Today, I share with you this:
Where is this going?
We turn within.
This is the season of solitude.
Coldness descends. Slowly.
The trees stripped. Exposed. Nothing to hide.
Barren. Gold fades to brown fades to grey. We await what we know will come, when our world becomes swathed with white.
It is coming. Winter. When our chilly cocoon enwraps us, cuts us off, shuts us in, draws us together, those of us that remain. We’re in this together.
Times are changing. The weather faster than the people. November is not what it used to be. Eleven Novembers and I’ve yet to see a storm stay, stick around, and shut us off this time of year, but the threat chased the people off long ago. Stories of the one that gotcha. Vehicles caught and stuck and buried and remaining until the following June.
No longer. Seems like late autumn is becoming a lingering of summers end. Giving us glimpses only of early winter. Tempting, teasing, eluding. Broken promises.
Fifty degrees at ten thousand feet mid day today.
Elk in tall timber at high noon as we ride above tree line, southern slopes completely clear of the last little storm. They are not seeking solace from hunters, who have left long ago, but needing the shade. Comfort in the coolness of trees.
Where is everyone, we ask each other, just the two of us, outside on another crisp and cool November morn? Lunch on the deck, afternoons in shirt sleeves. Sun leaving a line on exposed flesh where the leather of my worn work gloves ends.
Someone else should still be here. We feel selfish. Our little secret.
Too much good weather. It’s exhausting. Just when you thought it was due time to take it easy and work inside. Balancing my books will be very late this year.
We take a break and drive to town.
Quiet streets and empty sidewalks. Every face is familiar. The few that remain, hard core, cold blooded, solitary in camaraderie. Silent understanding.
Driving through Creede at winter’s dawn. You know every truck and every driver. You wave. That is my favorite part. No more anonymity of summer. No strangers remain.
Front row parking outside and the only one shopping inside at Rare Things and San Juan Sports. Room at the bar at Tommy Knockers. Tables to choose from at Kip’s. Time for hugs. For catching up. For another beer.