To The Aspen
Peter Sherowski came through town this weekend. That's my dad, for those of you who don't know. He fixed our truck, built a fence, bought us fish and chips, and then promptly split. The whole thing has me in a little bit of a tailspin this morning, missing my family and missing Colorado. The Northwest is my home, but that doesn't mean those wild peaks whipped by the thin dry air aren't still living somewhere deep inside me.
Anyway, here's a nice little passage about one of Colorado's most exquisite elements—the aspen tree:
"The trees heralded spring as it was about to appear, their small gray-green leaves shimmering in the sun. In midsummer their leaves were exquisite, for they were attached to their branches in a peculiar manner which left them free to flutter constantly; the slightest breath of air set the aspen shaking so that at times the entire north wall of the valley seemed to be dancing. It was in the autumn, however, that the aspen came into its true glory, for then each leaf turned a brilliant gold, so that a single tree seemed an explosion of vibrating loveliness."—James Michener