Sure, we've all heard the John Denver song but only those of us with a weakness for pristine aspen groves, afternoon thunderstorms and high alpine meadows truly understand that 'Rocky Mountain High' is an actual bodily phenomenon, which is contracted by frolicking in the state of Colorado.
It all begins by meeting up with old friends who know and love the state as much as you do.
The high comes on nice and smooth and by the time you rustle up some mountain bikes and make a few phone calls to old pals, you're beginning to wonder how long this feeling of euphoria is gonna last.
Chance upon an aspen grove suited perfectly for a jewelry photo shoot and the high quickly intensifies to the point of needing to pinch yourself periodically to make sure you are still capable of feeling pain.
Spend a few days camping in fields of lupine with snow capped peaks surrounding you and your symptoms now become a incessant verbal exclamation about the astounding beauty and a ruthless self-interrogation of what prompted you to move to the city from this paradise in the first place???
Throw in some serious girl time and and a little hubba hubba and you're beginning to understand the full magnitude of the affliction and wonder if you might be able to buy it on the street corner in east Oakland.
The high next localizes in the upper left quadrant of your chest in the form of swelling. You monitor and treat the swelling with plenty of fresh food and wine as you participate in the marriage ceremony of two humans that are so cool individually that the official uniting is almost too much to bear...so you dance wildly for a few hours to take the edge off.
Like any good high, 'Rocky Mountain High' leaves you wanting more.
And like any good high, a hangover is expected.
However, if managed properly with great photographic reminders (thanks primarily to Nic) and vivid memories, 'Rocky Mountain High' settles into a feeling of gratitude and the resolve to return for more.
Bronwen
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