“You could buy that one,” S says, as we drive around Breckenridge on our way to dinner. Main Street, Breckenridgephoto © 2009 Luis Toro | more info (via: Wylio)

“That one” is a tiny blue house that can only be really termed a shack, but I love it the minute I see it. I rambles around the corner and is cushioned by tiny fields of wildflowers in colors that can only be so bright because we’re at almost 10,000 feet.

I let my mind daydream into living here. How many online classes do I have to teach? How much of an advance might I get for my book? Can I afford the downpayment on a house? S assures me I’ll hate the winters – skiers and snow bunnies descending in droves. . . . I’m not so sure. I can tuck myself away fairly well in the winter. A laptop, good movies, stacks of books, hot tea, and snow, so much snow.

As we troll the streets, S spots the house for her family, just down the street from the park. “We could walk here. The kids could ride their bikes here.”

“Without you.” I say.

“Without me,” she echoes, smiles, and grows quiet. It’s that idyllic here.

After dinner, we gaze at the “house for sale” placards in the real estate office windows. We know we cannot afford these houses. But we dream. “Maybe we could get two other friends to go in on one with us.”

I may not be able to let this one fade with the morning.