One time, it rained in Denver.
And I spent that raining day planted in front of a wall of windows in the middle of the city. And I drank an entire pot of decaf coffee, which the baristas brewed just for me. I was visited briefly by a friend and our conversation was light and easy. Thor made me an almond milk cappuccino worthy of a gold ribbon.
This spot – everything outside of it – is deliciously gray. The buildings, the parking meters, the dead bushes that greet you, even the cars – gray. And I’ll take it today.
People walk to and fro – smiling, shuffling, yelling, briskly, purposefully, talking, warm, and cold, new, ancient, alive, walking-dead.
I hear pieces of conversation here and there.
It’s a good thing. All of it.
This has no glorious end. No profound deeper meaning. I am simply grateful for today. And the gray. And the life that happens no matter where you go.