Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Giovanni Fini and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
AUTHOR OF "ROD AND LINE," "MOUNTAIN TRAILS AND PARKS IN COLORADO," ETC.
STATE JOURNAL PRINTING COMPANY, PRINTERS AND STEREOTYPERS, MADISON, WIS.
PAGE MR. DIDE: HIS VACATION IN COLORADO, 7
For him who seeks her solitudes in sympathy, Nature has always a welcome. What we call storms are but her periods of house-cleaning, and the sunshine of her smile lurks in every humor; with love it is easy to adapt ourselves to her moods and with prudence we may avoid her missiles.
The upper end of the mercury is anchored, say in the vicinity of twenty degrees below zero, and there are two feet of snow on the ground. I have to travel a hundred miles or more from Denver; one mile on foot, the others by rail.
As I make my way down street early in the morning, with the rising sun turning the white peaks into rose-color, I feel disposed to halt and watch the changes. But I am denied the privilege of even walking slowly; I must wipe the tears from my eyes and hurry. The few people I meet seem cheery, and they steam along, reminding me of the cigarette smokers; the men wear icicles for beards, and one woman has a luminous nose, and I think is aware of it, for she holds her handkerchief to her face as she passes by. No one says good-morning--we have become too metropolitan for such courtesies--but every one expresses by a glance, "Cold! ain't it?" and steams on. One should always keep one's mouth shut on such a morning; one's inspirations will always be full and the shoulders thrown back without trying--that is if one be healthy. There is not the faintest indication of a breeze, and the iron tires of a heavy freight wagon, laboring slowly along, ring out like the music of tiny bells, close and smooth, as though the master of the baton were directing a legato movement. The driver walks by the side of his team, thrashing one hand against his shoulder and holding the lines with the other; the horses are half hidden in the steam of their own providing and are frosted even to their flanks. Thunder and Mars! but it is cold! and a cloud of cold air rushes into the car with me. The ebony deity presiding over the coach looked on with a wide, white smile as I thawed my beard.