Matthews Winters Park

I know, I promised pictures.

But I left my camera at home, so here is what you get instead.

Matthews Winters Park is between Gold and Red Rocks, behind the rumbling hogback that separates the mountains and the plains. It as muddy with thick red earth and grey snowy slush. It was gorgeous. We climbed smooth red sandstone to see the views, traipsed across yellow fields to a tiny fenced in cemetery with the names worn off by sun and chaffing wind. We slid on icy hills as the temperature dropped in the fading light of late afternoon and I braved my fear to stare down a cliff side without getting dizzy.

The wind rose high and plummetted down the foothills to push us on our way. My face was red and burned, my ears throbbed and my eyes watered ever so slightly to blurr the majesty into mysterious glory like a little world set apart for experiencing the Grandeur.

Jason laughed at how muddy my pants were, how they were soaked to halfway up the calf. He said its because my jeans drag along the ground and water creeps through the fabric like a paper towel dipped in a puddle even if ever so slightly. He told me the scientific name for the process, then laughed when I couldn’t repeat it back. Then we climbed in the truck, him neat and tidy after a two hour hike, me with my muddy jeans and squelching socks thanks to old and feeble sambas.

But the best part was, our exploring adventure did not end there. Because there was Gold to tour and Lebanese kafta kabob to be eaten for dinner.

And I think this is the start of some rather enjoyable times. I’m about to email “the gang” and see what the exciting plan is for this weekend. [and maybe, just maybe, this time I’ll get some pictures taken]


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