The Hope of Our Hearts

“Heaven is the hope of our hearts, and Heaven don’t tear you apart….”

I had an uneventful journey back from Colorado Springs. La Veta Pass was essentially empty making it fun to drive. The floor of the valley is bright green and yellow with the blossoms of the Chamisa. We’ve had so much rain that August, which is usually somewhat sere — beige and yellow — is as green as spring. Pretty but strange…

My heart lifts a little bit when I get over the pass and see the vastness of this valley in which I live. I love it. It sings “Home” to me as it has from the first time I saw it and recognized the landscape that would be my deliverance. There is no sky like the sky here. Even the river that runs through it, the Rio Grande, is different from all the other rivers in America; it has a very idiosyncratic flow to the Gulf of Mexico, never touching the vast Mississippi River Basin.

I had a good time, I loved seeing my friends but I am glad to be home.


6 thoughts on “The Hope of Our Hearts

  1. I have lived up here so long, it IS home. I never felt entirely at home in NY, so maybe we were both destined to live where we are.

    Are you getting my posts yet? I keep getting notes from people who wonder where I’ve gone. Frustrating, but other people have it even worse. I remind myself of that. Daily.

  2. Oh, I know the feeling you describe, Martha, but I feel it when I drive down Rabbit Ears Pass and see the Yampa Valley spread before me: first the scenic beauty of the ski town Steamboat Springs then the valley with the Yampa running through it, leading me to Craig. And “Heaven” captures the feeling perfectly. I’d never heard of the Psychedelic Furs. I wish I had.

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