Lord Bean and Pops.

I hear that autumn is coming, and if the flash-flood extravaganza of the past few days is any indication, it may already be here. I don't know how to mark the seasons here... there's no snow, it only gets slightly less oppressively hot (or so I hear). I can't look to the mountains for golden aspen trees, or relish in crisp, cool hikes at Chautauqua. There's just flat, and grass, and a tree here and there. I am craving Colorado, and bad.

I got an e-mail from my Pops today, really an extension to a previous e-mail. In addition to laughing at how ridiculous my father can be, I had a twinge of homesick sadness for all of the people I've neglected to keep in better touch with since my move. Most of all my father.

I've always had a special connection with my Dad. I'm sitting here thinking of how to best describe such a connection but it's difficult to articulate. Is it the way we can talk for hours about everything from politics to Peruvian textiles, or that from my earliest memories he always treated me as though I had something valuable to say, or my childhood years when we'd sit in his chair together reading National Geographic, watching 1950s sci-fi movies, and listening to The Corries? I think it's that more than any person in the world, my Dad knows me. There are countless things he doesn't know about me, but he knows me all the same.

Me and Pops worship the great Lord Bean in Vienna, Austria.

Laura,

I looked at my email to you from last night and realized it was titled "geese and group therapy," but I didn't say a word about geese in the email. It was on my mind because the skies are thick with geese these days. The weather is signaling the coming of Fall and all the geese are flying back and forth along the Front Range, especially at sunset, finding their way to their wintering grounds. It's impossible to go outside and not hear the "honk"-ing of hundreds or thousands of geese overhead. Nobody has ever seen so many geese before. It's incredible. Also, there are two pairs of "Swainson's hawks" that have taken residence outside my office, the first time I've ever heard of the bird or seen a hawk in Longmont. They're huge and have an eerie cry that sounds like all the wilds of the mountains. The birds are huge and people are stopping on 17th Avenue to look at them and photograph them. I'll try to get a picture today and send you one. In the foggy wine-sodden hours of last night when I emailed you, there seemed to be a clear correlation between geese and group therapy, but in the bright, coffee-stimulated light of day, I don't remember exactly what the comparison was, but you have a good imagination. Bye again.

Love,

Dad

Thanks Pops. I'll do a better job of keeping in touch, I promise.