Reaching out can get blurry sometimes

Driving into the hills and I couldn’t feel it yet. But I knew it was coming. The place had become a legend in my own mind, and I really didn’t know anything about it. People always said how amazing Red Rocks Amphitheater was, and it was starting to hit me as we walked up the smooth red steps in the cool, cool night. Michael Franti was about to come on and at fifty-one dollars, it was the most expensive show I had ever gone to. But that meant nothing to me now, as I looked around and straight into the souls of thousands upon thousands of people. It was easy, the crowd inviting itself to become better aquatinted as a variety of items were passed amongst each other. Hungrily I ate up everything that came my way, often with no regard- or idea- to what it was. Every time I looked over to my friend Greg, he had a new snack and was eager to share, from red vines to hot dogs, to chewy cookies that somebody somewhere made. It was exciting, and I was surrounded by so many amazing people. The music echoed off the natural landscape and was truly alive. Fireworks lit up the Denver skyline as a full moon rose and the beat dug deep into our heads. The message was simple and timeless, relevant and natural. It felt good to be there, as there was a mood of hope.

There were other moods too. Some were there to escape, some to explore, some just to dance. But as the night went on, the crowd grew together as the mood took on a natural progression through all emotions.

Driving away we were all drained. My head was out the window letting the warm breeze relax me. I noticed a simple memorial, to Vietnam- the war- those that are gone. Hanging on the fence like a six year old, waiting for his friends to come out to play, was a tired old man. A veteran no doubt. You could see it in his eyes, the way he stared at the bronze M-16 standing upright out of the ground with a helmet balanced on top of the barrel. He was so alone. I wanted to reach out and hug him. Tell him that I had no idea what he had been through, but that I wanted to try to understand. But the car moved on and the moment passed. No one else saw him, and then he was gone. As I fell asleep I thought of him, and of my long drive out west.