Travelogue part II : One bird in the Eye worth twelve in the Ear? And Jester snakes are Wild.

Yep. It’s been warm in Colorado this week. No hotter than where I came from, but there is more moisture here, and the monsoons press over the mountains each day, sending a barometric trough well ahead of any sign of them, which packs some serous undertow.

After a semi-functional, and super Funk-tional, morning Thursday, I was about ready to write off the day until I saw the first clouds, and, once again, I remembered how linked my inner weather was to the outer weather. Thus reframed, the day reclaimed some promise.

Later that afternoon, we were, in fact, able go for a drive beyond Horsetooth Reservoir, as the clouds spilled clear of the foothills and squalls spilled clear drops (and occasional lightning) over us. The best pictures went untaken, as rain saturated the air as well as the vivid greens, reds and blues of the scene. We drove until it had subsided and a road name gave us a reason to choose one trailhead over the others.

We hiked a ways up the Overland Trail, seeing one bird for each dozen or more Meadowlark calls we heard ping-ponging around us in a cagey meadow Kirtan. I brought my eyes back to the trail just in time to greet the back half of a beautiful snake sunning his tail across the trail. I picked up a small stone and tossed it near him, to produce the extra vibration that might hasten his trajectory into the brush. No rattle, just three to four feet of mesmerizing brown jester patterns and willowy S-curves gliding through the grass.

On we trod until rumbling thunder and tummies reversed our course. As I approached where the snake had been, I peered about and declared in my euphoric, post-storm baby talk: “All Gone. No more Snakey.” Until, of course, three strides later, when we spotted him/her just ahead crossing before us in the opposite direction. This time we got a couple of snaps, and I quite contemplated what such an omen might portend in this shamanistic life.

Wednesday we set a course for Boulder, where I planned to meet some good friends who gather for A Course in Miracles group and lunch. Jack decided he would ride down with me and then bike back to Fort Collins, so we loaded the bike in my van and set off so early we expected to be twiddling our thumbs on arrival. HA! We lost count of the number of obstructions and detours we encountered. I didn’t have an ephemeris, but I’d wager some celestial mischief was afoot.

During lunch I got word that Jack had a flat tire…. then later that he’d gotten another. I ran my errands expeditiously in a somewhat sweltering Boulder, as the thunderheads pressed overhead. I was addled enough by that and the strange parade of dust devils scouring their way down Spruce Street (as I walked up), that I left my keys at one stop. But soon I gathered my belongings and most of my wits into the van and headed up through Lyons toward Ft. Collins, where Jack was replacing his faulty tire tubes.

Despite the diversions, I did manage to get a couple of Selfies for the collection, and enjoyed a lot of good laughs with my old homies!

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