Four months ago I made a journey through prairies, rainstorms,
cattle farmers, rural settlements and sunflower fields into a fully satisfying view of
the Rockies with paintings of an urban sky framing the majestic heights.
As our car rolled into the chaos of this mile high city we soaked in the
new colors that our eyes were being exposed to.
The skyline embraced us.
And the life of an urban cultivator beckoned us.
So here I am living in this city.
Attempting to cultivate love and life in Westside Denver.
Our neighborhood, our home is our new farmland.
And we have quickly become part of a family.
A large family full of foreigners, orphans, widows, gang members, single moms,
spunky children, drug addicts and mere humans.
However, within our family, we no longer claim these titles.
We all fall under a category that has been cast onto humanties.
But we are throwing those names as far as east is from the west,
and we are embracing each other as brother, sister, father and mother.
I have never experienced a family like this.
I have never experienced a home like this.
Westside Denver has loved me beyond what I deserve, and my attempts to love in return
shy in comparison to what I have received.
From the graffiti walls that decorate my streets, to the sky lights that guide my
late night bike rides, to the dirty, barefoot children playing in my front yard calling my name,
to the beatiful mothers who have adopted me as their own,
to the sounds of sirens that echo in my night slumber.
Every aspect that makes up Westside Denver has provided me with
challenges, healing, love, life and courage.
I am proud to call you home.
I will stand within your realms, offering who I am to cultivate love and life
within the great, messy, beautful and painful fields of your land.
For at this time in my life, I am Westside Denver.
