Still new to each other, I met Clif for breakfast at the local Marie Callander’s after buttoning up the final days of […]
The gentle slope from the lift allows me to find a place without skier traffic. I take in the magnificent view below — a village nestled in the pines, to an expanse of a muted brown, deep green and mauve rural valley. A chilled wind adds pink to my face. Another swipe of chapstick protects my lips, a swig of water trickles down my throat like fuel for the ride downhill.
Under a week into residing at the 8000 foot level, Oly and I moseyed about with our eyes and lenses wide open. Here’s what we captured yesterday, one day past the summer solstice.
Admittedly, I’ve been lost as to where I’m going to go next and what is ahead and how do I deal with the many changes in my life. As I’ve written before, I’ll be in cancer treatment for the rest of my life, and most likely at the Phoenix Mayo Clinic. So it made sense to move there. Yet, a level uncertainty brewed inside of me.
California is my first home and where I thrive. Yet, like the green chili that smothers most any other food in Santa Fe, I must return for a taste of this contrasted world of rodeo to opera.