Over the river and through the woods to grandmother’s house we go.
If it’s to grandmother’s house I’m going, I’m in trouble; both passed over long ago.
Still the lyric sing-songs in my mind …
Across the rolling desert hills of eastern Washington … though the alpines of northern Idaho … along the river … down into sage desert of southern Idaho … through the Great Basin of Utah … across the awe-inspiring plateaus and river valleys of southeastern Utah … through cooling green … hot desert … and a couple summer thunderstorms for good measure …
And there it is folks, to anyone who’s been wondering all this time where I’m headed.
Colorado, again. A state of prior travels, not yet residence.
Colorado … where at the border marker I exit the Subaru … kneel … prayerfully express what is in my heart … kiss a rock … lift my arms in rejoicing shouts of “hallelujah!”
Colorado … where I rise and step to the marker … plant a kiss … and say hello to a lizard who seems there waiting just to welcome me …
I am here.
Those are the only words need be written today.
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Day 2 in Colorado – Saturday, July 9
There is still the state to cross … about another 4-1/2 hours … until I arrive at the final destination: Denver area.
I can’t believe this is really happening!
Rather, I can and I can’t.
For a long time, Colorado and metro Denver were an idea … a concept … a vision … a goal so distant down the road that it seemed like an eternity until I’d get there.
Get here I did. And am. I’m still arriving.
The miles have been good to me. The motion … the movement across four states (five after counting arrival in Denver) … the travel … the drive of solitude have given me time to process.
Where the rubber hits the road is where my life is sparked.
How horrible … sinfully wrong … and just plain no good and toxifying that my last road trip was five years ago (relocation to Washington).
We will fix that … and a whole lot more.
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I write from a small and very nice town of Glenwood Springs, between Grand Junction and Denver, elevation 5,000+.
Nestled against the soaring — a word I foresee writing often as Colorado unfolds — red mountains brushed forest green, Glenwood Springs offers a decent cup of coffee, last enjoyed five days ago in eastern WA, a solid Wi-Fi connection and spot to exhale and write.
I’m fatigued by the days of sitting but I am happy … hopeful and … (dare I say it, at long last?!) home.
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Long is the way, and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.
– John Milton