Rocky Mountain High

Whenever I get into one of my trademark "contemplative" moods, I sometimes find a bit of solace dreaming of a place in the mountains with a lake, crystal clear sky, and just the sound of the air in the trees. I've never lived in such a place, although during my growing-up years we would periodically take week-long fishing trips to Northern Minnesota. No mountains, of course, but nevertheless I can still tap the well of serenity last experienced 25 years ago.

Certain kinds of music augment that solace, such as those composed by John Denver. My grandfather was a fan of his music, and that appreciation has passed down from my father to me. I don't listen to him often, because after a while it produces in me a spirit of melancholy. But the lyrics and his guitar do "call" to me, producing a longing for the simplicity that is so difficult to find in this life. Honestly, I'd give almost anything to have a voice like that. I have a guitar I've never learned to play, but if I ever do take lessons, my goal will be to play some of his music.

Our holiday travels this year are taking us to Colorado, to the land of mountains and snow and crystal blue skies. So while the visit will be packed with family and celebration, perhaps somewhere in there we'll find a piece of serenity to bring back with us.