A six o'clock hike to get out of the heat, to breathe mountain air, to exercise the body and spirit. The temperatures have been hovering in the nineties and touching 100 degrees.
Kathy sees the first columbines. Her favorite. A wet spring has brought an extra green, extra flowered trail.
I think several times how grateful I am for these mountains, for this friend, for a strong body, for eyesight, for abundance and awareness.
The path seems more worn than usual--more dust. More people feeling what we're feeling and wanting more.
One morning when Tricia and I were looking for a parking place at a trail head, we had to turn around and look for a hike in a less crowded place.
"This is what covid did," she shakes her fist at the universe.
And so it did, but when our flights were grounded, when the gym was closed, when we zoomed with our classes and family~~we made adjustments to the unexpected circumstances.
But the consequences linger. And that can be a good thing.
I'm not sure if this was a covid-post-appreciation-thing or not, but when I got home from the hike, the sun was just setting, and as it sunk below the mountains, it left a bright orange haze hanging just on the fringe. I slipped into my swimming suit, slid into sun-heated water, and swam in the stillness of an orange dusk.
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