Yes, of course, I know lightning is shocking everywhere, but there is something so different about the dry, static of Colorado.
From the seemingly clear blue sky, a bolt can materialize and disappear in nearly the same instant. Against the backdrop of an otherwise sunny day, you're never really sure you saw any lightning at all.
It's much easier to have confidence there has been a flash, if it is set against the dark backdrop of mountains, and especially if those mountains are shrouded in night's darkness.
For several days last week, the thunderstorms would roll over the mountains and throw down electricity and water well into the night.
I found myself driving home adjacent to the show two times last week. The thing about Colorado storms is that, sometimes, you do not have to be in them to watch them. The night sky lit gloriously several miles away, revealing the outline of the clouds and mountains.
It got me thinking about time and life.
During a couple of our hikes this year, I could not stop thinking about the fact that I was walking on a time machine. The geologic majesty of mountains and foothills, and random remnants of volcanic centers makes for amazing climbing, but even more fascinating reflection.
In contrast to the age of any mountain, our lives are much more like the instaneous and ephemeral presence of lightning. As we clamored up and around the rocks and trails, I realized how short our lives are compared to the presence of the massive boulders under our feet.
So what do I do with that? My life is a flash in the pan, literally.
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