2006/
Early summer. I follow the
heaving geometry of the hills, upward past the silver-green sage and
dark pine, and into the distance where patches of snow still linger in
the shade of crevasses. The sky has just re-invented Technicolor as only
skies in Colorado can do it. They are the kind of sky you could tear
your clothes off for. You stand there, knee deep in a field of wild
flowers, and you want to dive right into the freshness of that breath of
blue ambiance, fragrant as it is with heated aspen wood, juniper, sage
and dust. You want to jump into the sky and go swimming there. Sky
swimming.
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