Swamp

I live in a swamp. I knew what I was getting into when I moved here, but how could I really know? I take two to three showers a day. I am not proud of this fact. I do not like to waste water and dry out my skin and hair, but the swampy air clings to me and I feel disgusting.

Yesterday, Neil and I walked to Union Station in the middle of the afternoon. It's probably ten blocks from our apartment, maybe fewer, but I thought I was going to die. The heat was relentless. In addition to nearly melting into the pavement, we had the privilege of seeing at least one drug deal, one rat, several half-naked people and smelling all the smells of the city that somehow go dormant in the freeze of winter.

In spite of the smoldering, clinging, cloying heat, on most days, I am very glad to live here. But yesterday, as I dragged myself through the air toward air conditioning, I couldn't help fixating on the foothills of the Rockies.