When the weather is just right, or the coffee is more bitter than sweet, or the light dances through the trees and the shadows play across the wood floor, or I smell a wood fire burning in the evening, my senses go back and
I blink.
Pine trees bathing in streams of golden light that sneak between the foothills and peek into the window behind the black stove that is still warm from the embers in its belly. Streaks of sunshine illuminating every particle of dust suspended in the stillness of the morning. Slow dancing in silence.
I blink.
Cold air freezes tiny drops of breath on the edge of my nostrils with each inhale of winter. A thick blanket of white silences the world but amplifies the sounds of my steps crunching snow beneath my heavy boots. Branches, ornate with ice glistening in the sun, watch the clouds roll back and unveil the clear bitter cold of January.
I blink.
An orange glow is cast over me as I wake to the friendly chatter of morning birds. The mountains stand tall and watch like wise old men on a park bench as the forest dances to life at the first touch of light. The changing aspen quiver and shake, exchanging secrets to one another.
I blink.
My legs are burning. My lungs are burning. I stop and take in the miles below and the miles above and the miles around. I slam my eyelids shut taking a memory snapshot of every layer of color, every rapid rise & fall of each peak, every curve in the river below. “Remembering, remembering” with each loud thump of my heart in my ears.
I blink.
She is one and walking. Clear blue eyes gazing at clear blue skies while tiny fingers grasp at the wildflowers and grass dancing with the wind around her. She stumbles towards the bubbling creek, she gasps at the rush of wind sweeping through the valley and through her hair, she reaches towards the pines and watches her feet closely as she follows the trail.
I blink.
_
C. Leslie
