When I was a kid, I wasn't very good at reading a map, or knowing which way was south or which way was east. I thought this was some kind of flaw in me, that direction was gift that you either had or did not and I was one of the have-nots in this particular skill. I couldn't point to Lafayette on an empty map of Louisiana. I was easily disoriented - and still have an embarrassing memory of getting a ride from school with some upper high school kids, and not being able to show them how to get to my dad's office.

Sometimes, life draws up its own teaching plan. At eighteen in 1971, I moved to Denver, Colorado for college, and lived there for three years. Without thinking about directions or studying any maps or books, an inner grasp of north, south, east and west came my way like a blessing, for in Denver, the mountains never moved. No matter where I was in town, the mountains were visible, and they were always to the west. The other directions fell into place from there.

The Colorado Rockies were one of the most moving natural features I'd ever met. The aspens shimmering in gold and white each fall - and just the weight and majesty of these giant formations stunned me. The sounds of the motion of the trees so high above, the lightness of the air in the high altitudes, the lively beauty of the streams and the stones polished smooth by centuries of the flow of water. When I'd leave Denver to return to Louisiana, it was often late in the day. From my airplane window, I could see the sun setting over the mountains, the sky veiled by strands of orange and pink and grey cloud. I didn't like the leavetaking, I was so attached, and hoped never to lose this life in Colorado.