In early May, the Colorado mountains breathe in a quiet, shimmering pause between snow and bloom. The peaks still wear their white crowns, dissolving slowly beneath a gentler sun, while the valleys below stir awake, brushed with the tender greens of aspen buds and the soft blush of wildflowers rising through thawing earth. Streams, newly unbound, sing down the slopes with silver tongues, and the air carries the bright, tentative songs of birds returned to the high country. Elk drift like shadows through emerald meadows, and every breeze tastes of meltwater and pine. It is a moment suspended—where winter exhales and spring, with a quiet smile, begins to speak.