It's a warm, sunny, spring day in East Central Indiana. Some scattered clouds and a breeze, birds singing, and sun warms the ground.
These types of days were my favorite in Colorado... when you'd get a cuppa coffee, grab the pack and gear, and head out for a climb in the hills. Maybe a vertical cliff with ropes, maybe just a long uphill stroll on a path worn thin from the footsteps of countless others.
Days like this, I really miss living in the mountains. I find my eyes drawn to the west, my imagination fooling me into thinking that maybe I can just glimpse the jagged outline of the peaks against the sky, the snow caps giving a hint of spring skiing, knowing the rivers and creeks are flowing with cold melt and full of hungry trout.
I miss my former home.