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The Land o' Lakes looks great compared with almost anywhere else, but sad compared to it's former self. Colorado is suffering the 3rd year of a drought that doesn't show any sign of relenting. They say the lake reserve is at 28%, which sounds like what I'm seeing. Most of the high lakes like Cottonwood and Big Creek are doing okay, though Neversweat is worrisome. But the lower lakes are almost dry. Young's Creek is a mud flat, and Eggleston is about half lake, half loblolly. You could walk across it from shore to shore in the middle. Only one of the cabins along there is for sale, though, so I guess folks are waiting it out. Or maybe these cabins are actually used more in the winter. Everyone around here is praying for a devastating snow this winter.
There's something about high Colorado that feels like home to me, though I've never lived here. The alkaline smell of the air at 10,000 feet. The rushing sound of a breeze through quaking aspens. The feeling is sort of "nearer my God to thee", if you know what I mean.
All Karma and no Dogma, though. It's a good, relaxed, strong feeling, the sort that lets you look on the task of splitting a cord of wood with relish and anticipation.
Thank God there's a burn ban on. Somebody might call my bluff.
But there is energy and contentment here. Everybody has their favorite place, and mine so far is high Colorado.
Personally I think everything above nine grand ought to secede and throw up barricades. Right after I get in. Of course you folks are invited. Somebody has to do the dishes.
I wish I could say clean the fish. I haven't seen any fish, up close.
I read somewhere that in the early days of California, a sometime street sweeper got himself officially declared the "Emperor of San Francisco" just by going around with a crown and insisting on due deference. Worth a try. 'Course some thought he was a lunatic, but those people didn't get the better land grants. Don't pay to piss off the Boss.
My ambition is smaller. "King of High Colorado" would do nicely. If you have been here, you owe taxes. Cash only. His majesty don't truck with banks. Wait. On second thought, all taxes are waived.
It's good to be king.
Ah, but it's only a dream. That's how senility creeps up on you. While you're blinking at Paradise, lost in a shaft of sunlight.
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