There’s a lightness to the air here. I know that actually the lightness comes from the relative lack of humidity at 5,000 feet, but it seems more like a quality of life or light, an airiness about place and time. The open, truer blueness of the sky, the clearness of the air, the directness of the sun.
I find myself able to sit here, just sit and think. Often, I feel like I have to take my free minutes and direct my thoughts to something – a book project, a class assignment, the job search. But here, I just be still and let my mind wander. photo Â© 2004 Dag Peak | more info (via: Wylio)
Yesterday, a beautiful, ferocious thunderstorm flooded the city, I sat at the window with my friend and her kids and watched the hail bounce off the grass. The thunder sounded like it was pounding the roof of the sky, and the lightning danced through the air. Magic – it felt like pure magic. I wanted to write it all down; I wanted to breathe it all in.
This morning, as I sit in the thin air of a Friday morning where every single plant glistens with water, I feel like I could write a book in an hour. I imagine myself with strands of light pouring from my fingers as I type. I see a golden glow inside my chest, and I just want to breath it all out.
Today, my friend and I head to the mountains, to Breckenridge specifically. I will have my notebook and a good pen. I will sit outside in that thin air and breath it in, letting it ease the words loose from the bottom of my lungs. I can’t wait.
Here, the rushing of words slows. The urgent need to do and say passes, and I’m just left with meditations. . . . and the gorgeous lightness of air. Breathe deep.