Before our daughter was born, my husband and I spent long, happy summers in our little ex-miner's house in Ouray, Colorado. We stripped wallpaper off the walls and hung fresh, painted the worn pine floors, and attended to the details of everyday life. In the afternoons, we sat on the porch and watched the thunderstorms roll in. The thunder echoed off the steep cliffs around the little town, and then the rain came town in sheets. The whole show lasted only a few minutes, leaving everything fresh, damp, and more vivid.
Sometimes, we took our Jeep up into the mountains. There are many great roads in that area. One of the scariest is the Engineer Pass road. Taking off from the Million Dollar Highway a few miles above Ouray, this 4-wheel- drive-only route is little more than a rocky stream course in places.
One day, my husband decided that we should see the dawn from the top of Engineer Mountain. We rose about 3 AM and climbed into the Jeep. It was dark. It was very dark. We headed up the empty switchbacks above the sleeping town. My husband is a very good driver. He maneuvered the rough, winding Jeep road with perfect skill. Light was just beginning to tinge the cloudless sky when we reached the top of the pass.
Sunlight hit the peaks first, and then the still waters of Ptarmigan Lake. It slid down toward the valleys as we watched. The most amazing thing about it was that it happened every single day whether we were there or not.
How many wonders are happening at this moment, somewhere? Maybe even right where you are.