Finding Peace in Colorado

I’m listening to a CD I bought at the airport.  The sounds of a single flute played by a Native American fill the inside of my minivan and I’m transported to the Arkansas River in the little town of Salida, Colorado, where my friend Nancy has lived for several years now.  I just got back from my first visit to her new home and the notes of the flute echoing off the canyon walls take me to several of the places I experienced with her;  eating lunch at 11,000 feet overlooking thousands of quaking aspens shimmering yellow leaves in an endless mountain range, walking through a mining ghost town where a one room school house, a bed and breakfast, and a jail among other deteriorating buildings tell the story of a small community who forged through impossibly rough territory to make a living, resting my head on a rock as I lie in the warm water of a hot spring alongside the cold river water, shooting a 12 gauge shot gun at the trap shoot and kicking an empty shell out of the barrel with a flick of my wrist.  It seems odd to me that I would feel peace during these great adrenaline rushes, but maybe I have the wrong idea about peace.  Maybe peace comes from feeling like I’m really alive.  Maybe peace isn’t the absence of trials.  Maybe it is living life to the fullest and having hope for the future.  There's a lot more to that story, so I'll write about peace and hope in my next several posts.