Over the mountain and through the rains ...
A couple of weeks ago I journeyed over the mountain in a barrage of alternating rain, hail, wind, snow, and sleet, straight into the heart of Denver to pick up a friend, where the barrage of alternating rain, hail, wind, snow and sleet was met with a steady barrage of traffic.
There's nothing quite like a harrowing road trip.
At Fort Morgan, out on the eastern plains, life is slow, night is dark, and they treat their poets really well.
My thanks to dear friend Rachel Kellum for the invitation. Attendance was quite good in spite of the wonky weather, and the folks were a joy to converse with. I was able to stop on the way home and enjoy a soggy lunch with my son in Golden.
The following weekend, I set out over the mountain again, this time with the husband. The barrage of alternating rain, hail, wind, snow and sleet had become old hat.
What followed was a brilliant production of The Scarlet letter, and time spent with dear poet friends, friends who write librettos and ask the world if poetry... matters.
I did not know which to prefer,
the somber cloak
of the opera,
of the opera,
the blissful ignorance of the hour,
and the coming home.
