Last night, we drove down from Laramie, Wyoming to Boulder, Colorado for an anniversary date. We decided to see an afternoon movie before heading off to our romantic sushi dinner. The movie ended at 5:30pm, so the sun had just started to set as we left the theater.
Rushing out into the chilly mountain air, I was staggered by the stunning view before us. Filling up half the sky or more, the forested, snow-covered summits of the Rocky Mountains loomed above us, their awesome heights at once majestic and oppressive. The pale winter sun had already rest his head behind their craggy peaks, but his warm golden glow still radiated in the faint cirrus clouds behind them, struggling until the last moment to cast off winter’s chill.
The sun seems to set more slowly here, high up in the mountains, than it does on the sandy California beaches that I’ve become accustomed to. As we began the drive towards our delicious dinner destination, we watched that soft glow dissipate, until it was finally swallowed up by the grey tendrils of frost extending from the darkening Rockies.