Sweet Air

Courtesy of Hot Sulphur Springs Resort

I love sleeping outside. When I can, I do. But right now it's May, the edge of winter in Colorado, and this means I've been sleeping inside for months. I scratch at the walls. I need to get out. I want to breathe sweet air while I dream.

On a crisp Friday evening I can take it no longer. I hop in my car and head to the hot springs. It's a three-hour trip, but tonight it takes six. It's snowing in the high country and I can't avoid: elk in the road, jack-knifed semis, boys with snowmobiles, men with provisions.

When I finally arrive, it's wee morning, and for hours I've been watching my odometer click off tenths of a mile at a time. My neck aches. My calves cramp.

I doze for a few hours and wake to bright sun. My skin feels transparent.

When I pay my admission, the attendant says Oh.

I blink. What?

She looks at my eyes.

I say, It was a shitty drive.

My favorite pool is big enough for one person. I float on my back, all hollow limbs. The water is cloud soft.

I inhale through my mouth, hold it in, blow out. They rhythm is good. I don't stop.