Wren and I walked between campgrounds at the state park the other day. It’s been too blustery for comfort a lot of the past week, and it was windy that day. But we enjoyed this remarkable recreational resource nonetheless. The first of three bridges we crossed was this one over Iron Creek as it flows toward the reservoir. I was reminded once again, with gratitude, of my neighbor who orchestrated this trail so many years ago, a true legacy.

When big dogs lived here there was no tulip predation. But the past couple of springs have wrought havoc on my bulbs, because the deer have decimated the leaves as they grow, diminishing flowering; and then nipped the flowers if they even had a chance to open. So I’ve bought cages for some of them, and while it looks silly at least I get to enjoy the gorgeous colors as the rest of the yarden gradually greens up.

Last night I was grateful for a virtual cocktail with a new friend across the mountains. She suggested the Sierra Madre, a bourbon drink I hadn’t heard of and thoroughly enjoyed, with honey simple syrup and fresh lemon juice, capped with a float of red wine. The orange ice cube made it that much more elegant. I’m grateful for everything new about this happy hour, including my new habit of stopping at one small drink on the rare evenings anymore that I do imbibe alcohol.

My heart lifted today when the apricot burst into bloom, literally between morning and afternoon, and then evening light offered this exquisite image. I’m grateful for springtime in the Rockies.