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.


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