Glenwood Springs

On this, our Friday evening, remembering that Sabbath is about to begin, there are few better places to be than here, up high, where the air is so crisp and the mountains surround us.

When I think that these rolling plains, pinnacles, snow covered peaks, and then back to the harsh scrub of this valley; when I contemplate the men that came before, not on smooth roads but through the dirt, rocks, prickly shrubs, sometimes mounted on horses, sometimes walking, scraping, limping; when I think of all this and then go farther back, to when this wasn’t even here, when the earth was just swells and ebbs, nothing too extreme, but life, life was different, has always been different, all this runs through my mind, behind my eyes, trying to grasp what it must have been like. We grow and swell, recede and jut, right along with this place, this place that once was not and now looms majestic over me.

And then I think of how it is now, not so changed. Sure, there is a road where once only a river wandered. There is a car, where once feet, hooves, wagon wheels rolled. There is neon and fluorescence where only the moon and the stars gleamed before. But the majesty, the wonder that I feel when the car turns and swoops into a canyon, speeds past steppes, meanders by horses, bison, sheep. That wonder in my heart, that widening of the eyes, that was here before, in those that came here, lived here, created what is here. So, to them I say thank you, for being brave, awestruck, marveled enough to not just pass through this unforgiving, wonderful land, but for staying, growing roots.

I am awed. I am humbled. I am grateful.