From ghost to mining towns, the rich history of Colorado is palpable by letting the soil run through your fingers along the Colorado river.

The wild grass runs deep as you walk along the dusty trail. One eye ever forward, ears pricked up for the sounds of animals rustling. Today however, all that is to be heard are busy bee’s pollinating open flowers before winter brings this mutual attraction to an abrupt end.

The open West, home to the lone wolf, both man and beast. One needs to tread lightly and respect the solitude those that live here seek. I move onward to buildings that have been abandoned yet struggle to remain intact given Colorado’s unrelenting seasons.

The former main transportation route through the Rocky Mountains is now just a foreboding outline in the sky. I stand beneath the iron slats and hear the whistle of the early 20th century train, carrying persons with dreams of riches in the silver mines, or perhaps just work to put food on the table.

I find a smooth river stone to put in my pocket, and smile with my choice of souvenir remembrance as I find my time along the Colorado river has ended……

as all things do.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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