This past week I had an extrodinary opportunity to accompany a friend to Vail, Colorado (well, it was Edwards, but there are a lot of little teeny community/towns out there and Vail is the closest that people have heard of) to help prepare a home for ski season.
It was stunningly gorgeous out there. Although I used to ski back in high school, I was mediocre at best and certainly a place like Vail in the winter would be wasted on me. But being there in the summer is something all together different. It seems made for simply finding yourself in an elevated position and taking in the view (okay, so there are plenty of people hiking and mountain biking and such, but I was there to work so my leisure time was spent gaping at the landscape.)
Even the Wal-Mart seemed almost quaint nessled in the foothills of a huge mountain range.
While running errands one day, it occured to me that we were driving on Route 70, the very same Route 70 that runs just a few miles from my home. There was something very grounding about this revelation in a very freeing sort of way, as though I were still on a sort of tether, albeit a very long tether.
Perhaps I'm just finding a way to reconcile these twin desires of wanderlust and sentimentality.
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