February 16-19, 2012
I don’t think I could ever live in Denver, Colorado. Walking as an unarmed woman in the streets gave little comfort when faced by the different faces of the city—the man who called me, ‘baby,’ to the silent figures shadowing the pillars of the capital—the faces warned me to be cautious when venturing beyond the tourist destinations; then, I found the genteel Platte River near Speer Blvd with it’s ducks sitting alongside humans—both like still statues watching the flow of the river in peaceful harmony.
The different faces of Denver beguiled me with it’s quaint shops—namely, The Market on Larimar Street. It’s a place where you can find a chocolate shop, a deli, and a coffee shop in one location crowded by tables and chairs. I spent time at The Market mentally preparing for the Writing for the Soul Conference that would begin that night. I wrote and re-wrote my pitch, and still I felt unprepared in spite of all the work of the past month.
As I leaned back against my chair, I listened to the honking horns, the sirens, and the roar of the cars that kept a steady rhythm. Once I spoke of living on the outskirts of Denver to Tony because the pay is better there, but Denver’s way of life failed to excite me. If I lived within hearing distance of a city, it would need to have mountains around to shield me from the city’s constant light bleeding into the dark sky and fading the stars.
Have you ever been to Denver? Describe your experiences.