Later, I stepped out into the relentless Estes wind and walked past the first place Sara lived during her first Winter in Estes Park. I imagined I could look through the walls as I walked past, able to see shadows of our memories, laying in each other's arms while the Winter wind wailed on our warm cabin.
The early Spring provided a pleasant distraction as I walked down the road towards Kind Coffee. Pygmy nuthatches sailed in the wind, sallying between trees, sometimes carrying a fat larvae in their beak to a hidden crevice in a dead tree. A magpie dove and bobbed up behind a much smaller chickadee, chasing it for awhile before veering off in its original direction toward the Big Thompson river. The way the magpie dashed at the chickadee with a seemingly relentless vigor, and listlessly turned direction a second later reminded me of Farley Mowat's descriptions of arctic wolves darting at caribou herds maliciously, only to run through the herd, giving no serious chase to any individual. I guess the magpie was just checking for the chickadee's health, in case an easy meal should be awaiting...
I watched a red-tail circle over a field continuously. Its bright rusty tail danced in the wind, keeping the hawk moving slowly across the field in the strong wind. Chickadees, nuthatches, juncos, and finches all fell quiet below the hawk, sticking to the thicker parts of the ponderosa until the dark shadow above passed.
Goodbye Estes Park, Continental Divide, birds, and all the memories, at least for awhile...
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