It’s mid April and for the first time since snowfall, we headed to the mountains.  In about 35 minutes we found ourselves following the Big Thompson River and winding our way upward.  We talked and talked and followed Trail Ridge Road until the road was closed.  We talked more and parked near an overlook and braced the wind to climb the rocks. The view was worth it.  We stopped at a local coffee shop and warmed up with more good conversation and a cup in our hands.  We meandered back down the mountain, talking more and every now and then pulling over for another picture.  Every now and then I rolled the window down and listened.  The wind would blow so fiercely, and then as fast as it blew, it stopped, and then again it would start to blow enabling the trees to speak. I found myself imagining the wind was the breaths of God given to the earth; steady, rhythmic and so beautiful.  Then we draw it in and it cleans out the dust, ignites a pleasant flame and we think more clearly and love a little deeper.  That’s how it feels. The earth needs it to survive.  And so do we.