Z and I went on a trip to Colorado recently. Leaving LA on that early morning looking out of the airplane windows, I told Z that I always get a little bit sad whenever I take off in a plane. It just always makes me think of my whole life. And then I get some distant perspective on where I am, like here, watching LA sink away far below, stretching out. And I think about all that led me there, to that place below, to that one place, and where I came from, everything.
And then Denver that first night! We wandered out of our wonderful strange decrepit hotel that was pretending to be fancy but wasn’t anymore to go explore the evening streets. It was so beautiful on our walk around the city that Z and I just kept stopping to feel it and take it all in and look at the sky and the buildings. It was the longest walk, getting lost, enamored. The wind started to blow as we were walking around gathering a picnic to bring back to the hotel. Sweeping leaves up in circles. And then it lightly rained on us out there, in the middle of that city, and half of the clouds were dark and half were in the clutch of a rainbow and then it all turned pink and soft hazy yellow and orange and purple in different spaces between the illuminated buildings.
My god, world.
I don’t think I will forget that.
It was a real spectacle out there that night, and we were just so happy, I guess, which is just not something you can say all the time because there’s always something no matter how happy you are. But we were just there, on vacation, delighting in some sort of unencumbered wonder, stopping at intersections and popping into restaurants and little fancy markets and take-out shish kabob in that light, that weather, just us, gathering a picnic to bring back to that funny hotel room.