Starwood in Aspen

Did I tell you that I’m happy to be here?

To share in this moment; this time.

It resembles a mushroom, this structure. A large round warped platform sagging in all directions away from it’s singular central support. The sagging, while appearing somewhat even as a whole, is rippled slightly, and a few scattered parts of it touch or dip into the dark water that spans on in all directions…broken only by gray mist, and a few erratic tree trunks rising from the swamp. There are a few lights, however. A scattering of twinkling yellow squares, sprinkled across the teetering wood-plank structures that cling, barely, to the round man-made island of rotting wood. A sense of age, overuse, and present uselessness. Underneath, deep in the shadow of the suspended island, the rippling water makes small slivers of dark gray foam on the lonesome and hideous support beam.

A gentle wet lapping sound; the song of crickets and frogs. Dancing reflections from the yellow windows. Water colliding with a half submerged railing on the outer rim. Going through a door now…a round plank structure in the middle of the island with a neatly shingled roof and an even floor. No light inside, at first. More sounds of sloshing water. The subtle glow of the outdoors through the cracks slowly breeds shapes in the darkness. Lines of a spiral stair’s descent. A ridged sillouette of a piece of simple furnature against the wall.

Going down now. Down the stairs that hug the wall, into the lone support column. The nearly nonexistent light residue rises with each step, then disappears. A groan in the wood; a dull pop. The walls are slimy and wet, and yield willingly with a wet tearing sound when pushed firmly. Water grabs my ankles and I descend two more steps into damp and utter blackness; the cold moving wetness now closing around my waist. I turn to the wall, put both palms to it, and push. They slide through with a dull crunch. I can feel the cool breeze outside blowing across them; the soft wood hugging my forearms. Another groan, and a deep pop; this time louder and right next to me in the darkness…the water begins to rise, or the floor begins to sink; it’s impossible to tell which in the darkness. Outside, a large splashing sound.

A swift awaking. A red 3:09 on a blinking alarm clock. A scent of cleanliness and cold. Across the dark and organized living room a sliding door stands open, and snow trickles in from above. From a radio in the kitchen around the corner a John Denver song plays absently on low. I wrap the blanket around me and walk past the long billowing drapes, to the open sliding door…gazing out and down at the black and gray landscape of the mountains in the dead of night and winter. An impressive display of stars, silver clouds, and moon. A blinking plane far off. A lack of memory, a feeling of comfort…relief. A popping sound behind me. A feel of water on my feet…