Writer’s Square

I had found myself in Denver several years ago. I had ventured off alone to explore the city. I enjoy walking among the buildings and people, with no place to go or anything pressing to do. To just be and explore.

I was hungry, as is most often the case. I stopped for food in a small cafe. I ordered hot soup and a coffee. It was a late cold afternoon and I had the place to myself.

I was warmed by the food and decided to venture out once again. A clock tower had started its afternoon walk, teasing me as I tried to stay warm from the light of our star.

I had not been at that latitude or altitude for several years and brisk air both welcomed and invigorated my senses.

The variety of trees mesmerized me. At the Denver altitude they grow strong and seem a bit smaller. Perhaps a lack of water and a shorter growing season. They were asleep then, with their past year foliage wilted, clinging and colorful.

The city folk were few and this surprised me. Perhaps they were all at work in a building or doing an outside city dance, hiking or climbing. The land possibly calling for a rarer breed, that would make this patch of earth, their home, a mile high in the sky.

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