Teenagers occupy the couches next to me while two women chat it up in the window booth at Marika's coffee house in Manitou. Pearl Jam plays over the stereo and if it were raining outside, I'd swear I was in Seattle. Except I'm not. The air is brisk and smells of wood burning stoves. The wind cuts through my wool layers and I've been stoking the pellet stove every night for the past two weeks.
I picked this seat so I could observe what's going on around me- to soak in the happenings of this little community. I should have gone with the caffeinated version of my drink as I can barely keep up with the whirl of conversations going on around me. It's giving me energy though and for that I'm thankful.
The sun set over the mountains as I walked here - it's 3:15 and already starting to get dark. Being at the base of a fourteener provides multiple reminders a day of who's boss. Yet I couldn't shake this undeniable feeling - the pinch me, I must be dreaming feeling. I've written about living in Colorado for ten years and to have it become a reality still seems like a fantasy.
Now, if I can just figure out some sort of work situation, I think I'll be in business.
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