More of Home

We left the house tonight just before the last light had disappeared behind the mountains. This is one of, oh, half a dozen of my favorite times of day. The evening star is hanging gently over Mt. Herman. The horizon fades from dusty, almost baby, blue to midnight blue, and, of course, because it’s yet another piece of Ultimate Artistry, trying to tell you about it is a little like trying to describe God. It just isn’t possible. 

The drive brings us closer to the mountains for Palmer Lake nestles in the belly of the foothills of the great Rockies. The coffee house, no more than the proverbial hole in the wall sits inobtrusively in the old McCall’s store. Books line the north wall and a collection of easy chairs, ottomans, and cafe tables and chairs are scattered throughout the room.  Palmer Lake memorobilia and eclectic artwork decorate other walls. Some recall moments of my childhood like the flood of ‘65. Others bring a vibrancy to the old place. All of it wraps around me as if to define who I am.

We meet friends who share our joy in life. We talk, we laugh. We share wine and coffee and food. We remenisce over shared experiences, tell new stories, and make plans for the future. The musician begins to play. He makes us laugh. He makes us think. And then he makes us laugh some more, and we all feel connected to him and to each other.  

Tonight all I can do is repeat to myself over and over and over. I am so glad to be home. Was there ever anyone who felt so overwhelmingly eternally grateful for these precious moments?

I am home.

I am home.