"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

02 April 2013

The Magic of Gray

At a lower elevation, it was a day of drizzle. Lifetimes ago, I'd have been wearing a trench coat and marveling at the echo of my hob-nailed steel-toe boots across city pavements. I'd have spent the day hopping from artifacts boutiques, to used bookstores-that smell!-to coffeehouses for a cup. Jazz would've been the inevitable backbeat, because what else is there on a dreary drizzly day?

Up here at ninety-one sixty, soft flakes, the size of coins wafted down, melting as they kissed the ground. It was cool enough to justify my fleece jacket for walkabout, but not wet enough for my hardshell. I had spent the morning making a stew from the leftover of Easter dinner, appreciating the absolute pornography of my fillet knife plaining prime rib meat from bone. My kitchen carried the scent of Trenchtown-when you're hit with music, you feel no pain. The community radio played Pink Floyd, old, old folk, Jimi Hendrix, and the blues for a backbeat because that's just the way of it in our Sahel.

Outside, I listened to the softness of my hiking boots against the wet earth, marveling at the low mist, cloaking the high peaks. A wicked grin of joy crossed my face as I moved along the trail. Despite the snow, it was not terribly cold out. Perhaps there is something holy about springtime in the Rockies, but perhaps there's just something holy about the Rockies, period, comma, and/or explanation point, and I merely repeat myself.

I am a sucker for a Grey day, whilst others would mope they just suck. There's magic hiding in the slate parasol of clouds that you don't catch within the warming illumination of the sun. When I came home from my walkabout, visions of tea and documentaries playing within the walls of my skull, the radio was playing the old jazz standard, Caravan, and I couldn't help but notice my shelves of antique books in the parlor. Oh, fuck yes. Perhaps I really do have it all, or close to it, but just needed a walk on an overcast day to remind me.

8 comments:

  1. That's a beautiful painting. I hope you are enjoying your day! :-)

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    1. Thank you. Pretty much any day one draws breath is a good one ;).

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  2. I felt like I was experiencing this day while reading this.

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  3. As always, enjoyed walkabout Tuesday with you...

    Spring is about as far as I like to travel on the seasonal highway as I dread the arrival of Summer's heat and humidity. Ugh. Just the thought of what's coming makes me want to find a little cabin in Barrow.

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    1. I do look forward to leaves on the aspens and humming birds. One acquaintance said the reason summer's the best time in the mountains is because it's so short.

      That's not to say we can't get a heatwave. It could get as hot as eighty here in the summer. Horrible.

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  4. We had prime rib for Easter, too, but I sent all the leftovers home with the kiddos.
    I enjoy those gray days,though I prefer rain to snow. A clean wash will refresh my imagination, and I'll spend the day writing.
    Nice imagery on the flashback.

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    1. Thank you. My preference for rain or snow seems to depend, both hold their respective magics.

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