An Ode to Rain and Red

The car twisted and turned,our bodies moved with the scoliosis mountain roads,as we traveled up the spine of Longs Peak.Evening rain lingered in the crevicesand cracks of the worn asphalt.

The scent of fresh, hot coffee seepedinto the grey fabric roof,the morning breeze weaved it’s way throughthe cracked windowon the drivers side, her red hair stuck outcompared to the grey sky.Her hair not just red but a carousel ofcrimson,orangeand blonde.Each strand individually woven to make a stunningunique red.

The scenic mountainside, transporting usinto a Bob Ross painting,each rock purposefully placed.

Sitting in comfortable silence her blue eyesalmost transparentwhen the red brake lights hit themjust right.She always saw through the lies that everyone else,unquestionably believed.

The static radio began playing “Roses”,the sound of glitter,shimmering crescendos,the bass of the song dropped.The crimson highlander made adip into a puddle pothole,Our bodies droppedwith the boisterous bass.Laughter echoed and bounced off the interior of the car.

Distorted reflections of the paper town we left behind,reflected off the rear view mirror.Running away from the town that we used to call home,the town which had shackled us to believethat, all the world had to offer waswhite picket fences, and a desk job.

Driving away from the watercolor sunrise,county fair cotton candy pink,interlaced with goldlike the dried up plains,dotted with groundhogs,Blue from the flooded creeks,and marsh, mosquito infested lakes,Orange from the dull road saltthat melted the pure white winters snow.

Safety of wearing her number twenty five soccer hoodie,that smelled of lavender and was coated in white and black cat fur.The musty car heater blasted,dusty,stale,warm air.As the rain continued to pitter patter,distorting the viewof the encompassing rocksthat towered above us