(Another post that I just realized was written months ago, but had been left in the queue since. This was scrawled out in June 2011, with the photos just thrown in. Enjoy...if you like this sort of thing.)
I sat outside for a while on my front porch tonight, with no phone or laptop or distraction of any nature...something I haven't yet done in the collective eight months or so that I've lived here (granted, most of those were wintry). What I learned was the importance of making sure to simply sit like that, in a setting as idyllic as the northern reaches of Boulder. I'm lucky, truly lucky, to call this place my home.
It started this evening with the flashes of distant lightning I could see the front windows. Curious, I stepped out, to see overhead only the usual bright stars and dark sky -- something I've enjoyed gazing at night after night here. Looking north, I made out the mass of orangish cloud which gave off occasional heat lightning, but the sky remained otherwise clear and placid from the foothills in the west to the prairie haze in the east. Even a falling star joined the party, as if to absurdly serve notice that I should be doing this much more often.
As the only sounds were those of the occasional dog walker, the distant hum of cars on Route 36, and the passing gentle breeze, I couldn't help but think of how safe, protected and civilized this is. I also marveled at the fact that there are only dozens who live on this street, while I used to look out my window in New York upon tens of thousands of immediate 'neighbors.' Here, as with there, one can see how many televisions are in use every night, as mine almost always is. Blue and green glows dance across room after room of townhouses and apartments, while nature's display above is infinitely more entertaining. Did more of us notice in the days before TV, or were most people simply turned in for the night once darkness fell, the way so much of the world still does it now?
Boulder, 8/1/11. No thanks to you, iPhoto.
I sat outside for a while on my front porch tonight, with no phone or laptop or distraction of any nature...something I haven't yet done in the collective eight months or so that I've lived here (granted, most of those were wintry). What I learned was the importance of making sure to simply sit like that, in a setting as idyllic as the northern reaches of Boulder. I'm lucky, truly lucky, to call this place my home.
The "Uptown" neighborhood, May '11
It started this evening with the flashes of distant lightning I could see the front windows. Curious, I stepped out, to see overhead only the usual bright stars and dark sky -- something I've enjoyed gazing at night after night here. Looking north, I made out the mass of orangish cloud which gave off occasional heat lightning, but the sky remained otherwise clear and placid from the foothills in the west to the prairie haze in the east. Even a falling star joined the party, as if to absurdly serve notice that I should be doing this much more often.
Foothills in sunset from my home, July '11
As the only sounds were those of the occasional dog walker, the distant hum of cars on Route 36, and the passing gentle breeze, I couldn't help but think of how safe, protected and civilized this is. I also marveled at the fact that there are only dozens who live on this street, while I used to look out my window in New York upon tens of thousands of immediate 'neighbors.' Here, as with there, one can see how many televisions are in use every night, as mine almost always is. Blue and green glows dance across room after room of townhouses and apartments, while nature's display above is infinitely more entertaining. Did more of us notice in the days before TV, or were most people simply turned in for the night once darkness fell, the way so much of the world still does it now?
Daybreak over Boulder, June '11
