The View

I remember when I started Tiny Cat Pants, the joke was that my hobby was driving around looking at things. Here, I don't feel like that's such a joke. I could spend a lot of time driving around looking at things and be very happy about it. Yesterday, I went north, and the mountains sat far off to the west, like they marked the edge of the world. Up in Fort Collins, the locals give directions using the mountains in the west as an unchanging point of reference. "Go east three blocks," they say, "then turn south." Always, with the mountains visible, you know what direction you're going. My drive today was even more beautiful. Heading south out of Denver, the mountains sit just to the right, like an enormous wall protecting the towns beneath them. Right now, I'm sitting outside in the shade, jotting this all on a yellow steno pad, intending to type it in either tonight when I get back to Denver or tomorrow, if, at some point, I get tired of reading by the pool. Out in front of me, somewhere, must be Pike's Peak. I don't know which one it is, though I feel like I should--just to show some solidarity with the sweet girl who crossed the wild prairie with her lover, Ike. I may ask someone today if I can see it from here, and, if so, which peak it is. From where I'm sitting, the mountains look like interlocking pyramids, giant ones along the spine of the ridge, then a series of smaller ones stretching like big-knuckled fingers towards the valley full of sparkly windows and cars below. The mountains are mostly green, with some craggly rock faces, except for the one most to my right, with the obvious tree line. Do you remember those fake fur covered plastic bunny banks? You know how, after a while, the fur on the outermost parts wears away, exposing the plastic beneath? That's what this mountain looks like, as if the trees have been worn away from the high spots.