Letting Go.

I am writing this on the last evening of summer.  Fall, and its full on vibe, arrives tomorrow. Fall creeps into our consciousness, our bodies and our lifestyles. Its hard to overlook the bright yellow school buses as they cruise our streets or the matching yellow leaves they scatter in their wake.  A pumpkin on every porch stoop. However, I'm not quite ready to let summer go.

I adore the high country (land above the piedmont and below the timberline). My summer road trips this year included some of my Colorado favorites:

Westcliffe - Pop 568, Alt 7658 - Salida - Pop 5,666, Alt 7068 - Ouray - Pop 1,000, Alt 7792 - Ridgway - Pop 924, Alt 6985 - Telluride - Pop 2,059, Alt 8750

In my exploratory travels we drove through the San de Cristo mountain range just outside of Westcliffe.  Witness to the “blood of Christ” sun reflecting off the tips of the range, forming a crown around the perimeter of the town, a green golden valley glistening below,  the dark amber sunset of the evening setting upon the horizon.

Tonight I sit with a more familiar mountain before me. I try to decipher this mountain now in its contrasting form. I am intimately familiar with this mountain. I've been on it hundreds of times.  But today, in this changing season, it’s almost unrecognizable to me. Almost foreign now with its brown rocky edges and mottled clusters of cliffs and evergreens scattered upon it instead of my typical experience of it in its soft white blanket.

My “local” friend helps me find the recognizable landmarks on the brown ridge above tree line. He gently points out to me the bowls that I’ve skied, showing me where my favorite lifts and runs are on this unfamiliar landscape of my off season perspective. As I recognize more and more of the terrain, snow filled memories flood my mind. Skiing this mountain in a "snow globe", crystalline moisture suspended in the air. Sunlight glistened upon the edge of each minuscule perfectly shaped flake, creating a kaleidoscope of beauty to ski through. Carving out fresh tracks, often with very few others - strangers - but not - we let out a collective woop, and as a small community, we take the leap and hop down into the fresh pillowy bliss of the powder.

I draw my gaze away from the majestic view of the mountaintop towards its muladhara - the base,  the root of the mountains as it holds court before us. It feels so strong and humbling.  As my eyes focus closer in, I see the leaves are just beginning their metamorphosis, slowly releasing their chlorophyll until the absolute synchronized moment when they make the decision, and release, fully release. They flutter towards the earth, such a long, casual affair that lasts a few seconds. No panic. No hurry. Just a natural letting go.

I am a summer “holder-on-er”; it's my "favorite" season. This summer, didn’t disappoint and blessed us with its realm of glorious sun, showers  and rainbows.  I miss them already.

It is happening, the air is growing crisper the apples, now reigning the market, usurping the glorious peaches of palisades.  Viewing the golden aspens shivering against the pungently clear blue sky is classic Colorado fall.  I, like the leaves, will take my time following my own inner knowledge and of course the wisdom of nature, waiting for just the right moment to let go.