The Quietude

I think about the time before human technology when I am up in the mountains of Colorado, several miles from mechanized civilization. You can almost hear nature, especially on Christmas Day, when few humans are out and about, and thus they are not making noise with automobiles and lawnmowers and mindless banter.

I am at a mountain cabin that belongs to Carl Reed, a sculpting teacher at Colorado College and also my sister's "partner," though I am not entirely sure if that's the term she uses. It is about 7 miles away from the small mountain villa of Woodland Park CO. On any other day, it's hard to detect the sounds of human beings coming from "down the hill." But on Christmas Day, it is especially quiet.

As I was walking up the road from Carl's cabin in the woods, I had to stop and just listen the the wind in the pine trees. It was quite an epiphanic moment. So I decided to pay tribute by writing about it here, which I just did.

When we arrived at Carl's cabin yesterday afternoon, I took a purifying Christmas Eve Swedish sauna, which Carl has in his back yard, a wooden box about the size of an outhouse that is heated with hot rocks on a wood fired stove.

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