Beauty

I have this thing for beauty. I sense it encircling me and peeking out from everything I come in contact with; whispering, demanding, and hungry for attention. Through its persistence, and sometimes its devious and clever methods at breaking in on my life when I am suppose to be serious about this or that, I have come to an understanding that the choices I make about how I live my life are all wrapped up in one big but simple thing, a quest to immerse myself in beauty.

I live in a gorgeous city, Colorado Springs, Colorado. The Springs, which is what the locals call our fair city, is spread out in the cooling eastern shadow of Pikes Peak and snuggly pressed up against the foothills and smaller mountains that ride up and envelope this famous mountain like so many green folds in a young girl’s party dress.

I have put down roots here because I choose to raise my family, do my work, and embrace my life in a place that makes me happy. There was a time, not so many years ago, when I let the endless list of pressing obligations and responsibilities that the world constantly hurled at me to determine who I was and where I should go. Then a soft voice began to weave a story about the world, the real world, and I listened.

One of my favorite hiking trails is The Seven Bridges Trail, which twists along the clear, rushing water of Cheyenne Creek and over seven sturdy wooden footbridges that span the creek as it steeply climbs up to Jones Park. Jones Park is a mountain meadow of tall grass, aspen forests, and open spaces tucked between towering mountains that range in elevation from 9000 to 12,000 feet.

This time of the year the mountains are brimming with life that is green, damp, and growing. Nearly every afternoon the sky above the mountains and the immense expanses of open air in the valleys between the mountains are the stage for wandering springtime mountain thunderstorms. I love these storms. One of my favorite things to do is get caught in a rainstorm, the lightning so bright, the crack of thunder so startling (the thunderous train of air passing through me), that in frightening awe I wonder if I’m going to get hit and fried crispy like a crab wonton from my favorite Chinese restaurant.

Five minutes from the front door of my home is the Seven Bridges trailhead. The dirt trail is littered with a jumble of boulders and snaky tree roots. It twists up and down the sides of the jagged valley, past springs bubbling from underneath stones, around corners where the drone of cascading water masks the voices of the blue jays, woodpeckers, and crows, and emerges in a towering Aspen forest at the edge of Jones Park. It is easy for me to imagine tiny, mystical creatures scampering between the rocks to hide and then look out of the cool, dark places as I pass.

An interesting fact about this wonderful place is that buckets of sweat and profound moments of self-reflection are necessary for me to soak up the majesty. There is a lot of body and mind angst involved with running around the mountains. Climbing up and down miles of rugged mountainous terrain, unpredictable and sudden weather changes, and the occasional shock and joy of seeing a black bear, mountain lion, or fox requires that I suspend my usual habits of wanting to live a reasonably safe and comfortable life in my home in the city.

The peace I experience is enlightened yet simple, graceful yet stark, magical yet real and that is more than enough for me to pursue the possibilities of my life as seen through the eyes of beauty.