Mountain Sun, Vail, CO.
Mountain Rain, Vail, CO.
Gentle breezes move in a Bernoulli fashion through the
valley. The light green aspen leaves
shimmer in dappled sunlight contrasted by the pastel white branches. The slow but relentless waters of fresh snowmelt
runoff gurgles over the boulders that have been “tumble polished” by centuries
of wear. Swift swallows dart in and out
over the water which is moving along in the deeper side of the creek. A trio of black crows soar into the pine
trees as the wind slices through the green needles. Then they glide down to the smoothly ground
rocks on the shallower dry side of the summer stream to sort out their next
move. After much agitation and arguing,
they seem to make peace with one another and elect to fly away up into the
aspens as a golden eagle catches a thermal updraft and soars high above them.
Cyclists silently roll over the designated paved paths near
the water’s edge regaled in full gear. The
knobby tired rental bikes are designed for mountain trails that beckon downhill
racers and uphill enthusiasts. Gondolas
are constantly migrating in silent procession up and down the mountain side on
invisible cables in the distance. The
silence is only broken when they pass over the stalwart iron posts that support
them.
The soothing sound of Gore Creek never ends, unlike the
repeating sound of ocean waves rhythmically washing onto sandy beaches. The song of the mountain stream is punctuated
by the innocent voices of small children playing in the crisp air over a
swimming pool. They shout and giggle as
they tread the water’s surface on tubes and arm floats.
A large stand of aspen trees with their straight white
narrow trunks lines the mountain side near the creek, as higher elevation green
pine trees receive the baton and transition on up the slopes. Swaths of green meadows laced with red Indian
Paintbrush belie the rapid activity of skiers in the wintertime. The slate and green metal roofs of mountain
homes can be seen jutting through the aspen and pines between the mountain
stream and the ski slopes. Mankind has
imposed his will on these pristine highlands as well, but the natives have
embraced the notion of living in harmony with nature and designing homes that
harmonize with their environment.
John Denver’s high-country anthem, Rocky Mountain High,
bemoans the sight of “more scars across the land”, but responsible developers
can also attract people who grow to know and love this mountain life and thus live
in concert with the land while working to preserve it. I’ve always embraced the revelation that John
experienced upon coming to this place on earth and realizing that he was “coming
home to a place he’d never been before.”
Some folks say that also applies to heaven. This is a place where “you can talk to God and
listen to the casual reply.”
The late afternoon winds suddenly begin to gust as the aspen
leaves shimmer even faster. A rain
shower swiftly moves through the valley as native Indian fire spears strike the
higher elevations and booming thunder drums resonate off the opposing mountain
sides. Then as the showers pass,
sunbeams from the lowering sun are split in the prisms of a legion of rain
drops to reveal a brightly colored rainbow drifting away across the valley. And as daylight recedes a starry, starry night
high above the pollution of city lights appears and “the shadow from the starlight is softer
than a lullaby.”
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