It's the first time I've worn shorts since early October. Sandals for the first time was a week back. Hummingbirds trill through the valley and we rush to get out the feeders. The narrow-gage whistles, heralding the start of a new season in our Sahel.
I opted to ride my bicycle over to get a shot and beer. The melodrama's on its second weekend, giving our fair 'berg its slice of class by virtue of theater. Snowbums spoke in tongues of lamination at the upcoming closing of Loveland for the season, although, A-Basin could be open until July, what with the snowpack along the pass, and the hardcore types will find those snowfields that don't melt out of spite and the junky's need to ride.
So it goes...
The sunset is striking when I ride home and the air was brisk against my bare legs. Fantastic. The bartender mentioned it was difficult to hug me. So I swept her off her feet so we could see eye to eye and she'd be able reach. It was easy.
A romantic might swoon at such a thing, but I ain't romantic. I can sweep a girl off her feet in the same way a lot of people look up to me; I'm really fucking tall. Freakishly so, Jezebel used to say, but I would correct my best friend; superfreak, for I am superfreaky.