In the evenings, we played games, Bananagrams and Rook, accompanied by side-splitting laughter. Mom and Dad, no longer with us, were often present in our thoughts and conversations.
We spent some time in the Rocky Mountain National Park, breathing in the beauty. Aspens, bare of leaves, stood shoulder to shoulder, their fingers reaching the sky. Nearby, elk dotted the countryside at the foot of the mountains, some grazing, some bedded down, others jostling for position. We hiked around ice-edged lakes and frozen waterfalls bundled against the chill.
Later, in town, my sister-in-law and I lined up behind a fence with other visitors to watch elk quite close on the golf course. I'm sure I could have hit one with a 9 iron if I was a golfer.
One afternoon, I drove to Fort Collins. The beginning of the road followed a stream, winding through the mountains. Then, it dropped into the flat country, where amazing clouds feathered toward the ground. At every turn and stretch of the road, I was tempted to stop and take pictures, but I was on a schedule. I was going to meet a woman I'd worked with for 20 years and never met in person. It was an excellent meeting, adding a new dimension to our friendship. Her voice was so familiar, her face not yet so. "Every time I hear your voice," she said, "I feel like I'm on the phone." We sat in the bone-numbing cold in the bleachers of a hockey rink with one of her sons as we watched another son score a goal and lead his team to victory, 3 to 2. It was hard to leave.
Home again. Don's welcoming arms wrap around me as Barley circles around, wagging his tail. The evening is mild; a crescent moon hangs low over the lake, and tree frogs sing from the pond. It's good to be back.
