there is no adequate way to describe what it feels like to summit. to push yourself harder than you think possible. to see the world from a place most never will. to drink in air untainted by man. to hear total and utter silence. ah, yes, words are inadequate.
mt. belford, 14, 203′ and mt. oxford, 14,160′. 11 miles and 5,800′ of elevation gain.
on wednesday, after a mere 20 inches of snow blanketed denver in the most glorious way, the storm broke, and as if by some deep and primal calling, we all emerged from our warm cocoons and into the wilds. i took out one of my all time favorite camera accessories: my lensbaby. true love.
the snow swirls, the tea steeps, and i’m wrapped in the cozy sounds of sinatra’s velvety croons emanating from my grandparents’ vinyl. i close my eyes and conjure up the joy of their 5 o’clock ritual. of husbands and wives and sisters and brothers gathered together and celebrating life. scotch splashing, ice cubes tinkling, as they glide merrily across their newly installed and oh-so-trendy linoleum floor with their highball glasses filled all-too-generously.
papa in his monogrammed golf shirt. gama, in her smart red nails and superbly chic polyester suit and pearls, carefully selects another cigarette from her case, and with a flick of her floral brass cloisonné bic, she inhales relief. tricks are won, tales are told, ivories are tickled, and everyone’s glasses and hearts and bellies remain generously full. they. are. living.
and with a drop of the needle, i’m living right here, right there with ‘em.
“perhaps all the snow in the world will fall, burying everything, such silence, and then i will come out of it in the spring, different, cleaner, not born again so much as built up.” -rick bass, winter