Cities are always best at dawn and dusk. There's something softer and less imposing about a row of skyscrapers when they're mostly empty and the sky reflects blue and grey and orange off their shiny skin. Seeing a skyline just before the sun comes up or just after it goes down is like receiving a warm, spontaneous hug from your belligerent teenage child. That moment of vulnerability helps me remember why I love cities so much. There's so much innocence, so much potential wrapped up in those moments that I instantly forgive all the pollution, the traffic, the lack of green, and the daily, frenzied scramble to make a buck. Sometimes I just want to take the whole city right into my arms and cry.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
My roommate, Jennie, and I popped out for a short run to nearby Jefferson Park and back last Saturday morning. We were headed down to Colorado Springs for her cousin's wedding later in the day, and we knew if we wanted some exercise, it would have to be first thing or nothing at all. The run part of our morning paused for intermission when we reached the park, as we sprawled out in the lush grass and clover for some high-powered relaxing. It's hard to resist the shade of big ol' trees like the ones in Jefferson Park on a just-warmer-than-crisp morning when you know the rest of the day, heck, the rest of every day for the next four months, is going to be scorching hot.