Graham leaves Denver today for the whiter pastures of Lake Michigan, Bear and Lynx’s temporary home in Bob’s woods, under the careful care of Grandpa Brown.
It’s odd, this realization that my life at 132 South Grant Street, Denver 80209 is over as I know it, for even though I surmise this to be true when I depart in August, I never bid my lieu adieu, then, and now, I sing a little song of melancholy, reminiscing over the good times, the bad times, the routine times.
The view that comes to mind is that of the garden from the massive upstairs bathroom–itself a poor use of reclaimed space, too large for its britches with toilet, tub, and sink pushed to opposite corners–specifically, of the patio table and of the many, many soirées held around its tiny circumference, friends packed to the brim and overflowing, tabletop heavy with brews and glasses of all shapes and sizes.
Or, of a springtime treat, Bear guarding the perimeter of the fence, all guard dog for the poor soul who dares pass by our three-foot tall fence, Lynx on the roof, keeping vigil over the squirrels, shoots of tender greens climbing the potager trellis.
Fast forward to the fall three times over and to a similar view, jack-o-lanterns growing on the vine, remnants of salad greens under crispy leaves, Bear excited as a spring chicken because today is Saturday, which means that Bear gets a hike in Boulder while the Buffs are destined to lose yet another college football game.
To think that just three days ago, Graham fêtes the end of a work era and celebrates the start of a new journey with friends, closing up shop on four plus years of living in Denver, thirteen in Colorado, to play nomad and frolic in his own dreams of South American splendor.
Little house, we sure will miss your South Broadway lifestyle.