Hometown

When people ask me where I live, my response of course is a simple "Telluride, Colorado." There is a lack of thought towards my response, not thinking in depth about what I'm saying and what it really means. "Oh wow you are so lucky! It is so beautiful there!" tends to be a common response. "Ya, I am" I reply, again in a mono-tone. It's not until moments later, after the subject has passed that my mind registers exactly the dulness of my response and I almost feel guilty. It's like I take for such granted where I live, the amount of nature I am surrounded by. I almost want to bring it up again in the conversation (although, of course at this point we've moved on to talking about something else like, for instance, where they are from. It usually tends to be a run-of-the mill place) and talk about the beauty I'm surrounded by every day.

I want to tell them with passion about the flowers that bloom in the spring, scattering the hillsides with bright colors and tall grasses. I want to explain that the magestic mountains hold this colorful life through the summer, sprouting new buds with each comign month, adding to the beauty if the scence. I want to brag about my options for hiking and adventuring through the wilderness and being able to experience this beauty first hand. I want to explain to them the certain sparkle of the river during snow-melt when the water is so bitter cold it hurts to touch your toes to the surface. I want to tell them how green the aspen leaves get and the sounds they make, rustling together when a soft breeze runs through town. I want to brag that these trees exist simply outside my bedroom window. I want to describe the rays of sunshine that light up everything I see out my window, although I'm rarely inside because of the beauty there is to esixt in outside. I want to warn them of the harshness of the rays that may fry them if they ever visit, but comfort them with the explanation of the bluest sky that the sun so rests in. I want to tell them that there is no place on earth you can see the stars like from here. I want to try to describe the ways in which they eluminate the sky, but that would be impossible.

But now, it is too late. Our conversation has gone well beyond even where they are from. At this point they may not even be in my presence anymore, but my regret of not lingering on the conversation of the beauty of my personal nature grows. I probably haven't heard even half of what they say because I've been so busy suddenly reminscing on the times I've spent in my own nature. I think about what it brings to me. The sun offers me hope, especially when it shines while there is rain and a rainbow fills the end of the valley. The stars leave me with memories that linger in my mind, until new memories fill their places. The flowers and the trees, whenever they blow in the breeze that accomplanies me on a long hike lend me a whisper of encouragement and a shout of laughter to brighten my day. The nature that I witness simply sitting on a bench on main street takes my breath away when I really think about, and I really do regret not telling people about it when they ask where I am from.