Maybe I'll publish a book of firepit photos. I'll call it Real Firepits of Colorado. I am seriously in love with firepits. Seriously.
I love what firepits mean. They mean hiking the mountains and then going to a brewery for a beer. They mean sitting outside, all bundled up, fireside. In Denver, the mountains are omnipresent and being outside is natural. We don't have firepits in Boston and we don't have that life either. Sure, we run outside and some of us row or kayak on the Charles, but we don't get really really REALLY outside. And most of us hate winter. We hate it a lot.
There are so many places to visit. And so many lives to live. And the life in Denver? It's a beautiful one.
I flew back to Boston today. The afternoon light of a Northeastern sunset filtered through the plane windows and, as we descended, the sun was a glowing pink orb hovering just above the horizon line. It became dark quickly. When my cab popped out of the tunnel, all of the downtown city lights were spread out against the sky like twinkly stars.
And I thought: Home is a pretty great place too. Home is a pretty great life too.