Best date ever. Again.

My boyfriend is a romantic guy. He buys me flowers every time I come to visit. He has sent flowers. He sends cards. Sweet cards. And letters. He dances with me in the living room and in the markers isle at Staples.

Our first best date ever was dinner at a small, cozy Italian restaruant in Denver, followed up with a comedy show. We got all dressed up (that’s all I knew–dress up, look nice) and it was chilly out so we were bundled up, holding hands, walking through Denver. We wispered to each other in line about the other people in line. We laughed our asses off. It was the best date I’ve been on. Ever.

Until now. This time, I knew a lot more about the plan. A short, easy hike, from a trail head about 45 minutes from the house. A picnic dinner, bottle of wine, looking down on and listening to whitewater from the river below. The sun setting behind Mt. Meeker and Longs Peak. Bundled up in jackets and snuggled under a blanket, we just watched the light fade.

best. ever. again.

The river below our picnic spot. Though it was hundreds of feet below us, the sound of crashing water carried up the canyon. I searched the cliffs for big horn sheep, to no avail.

The river below our picnic spot. Though it was hundreds of feet below us, the sound of crashing water carried up the canyon. I searched the cliffs for big horn sheep, to no avail.

Staring at the sun. Not a good activity.

Staring at the sun. Not a good activity.

186

The last rays.

See? Best. Ever. Again.

See? Best. Ever. Again.

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