The Road Home
It is difficult for me to understand when I reflect on how I am absolutely certain that Wyoming is my home. I don't say that lightly, but I really believe I have found it. Maybe i should just shutter the windows on this supposed travel blog? Naw…there's too much cool stuff to be seen and felt and done. Nonetheless, on my drive home from Moscow, I saw many different types of terrain, low and arid regions, like Lewiston, Idaho; high and lush mountain passes, like the lovely Lolo Pass in Montana; the exciting mountain town of Bozeman, filled with young people living how they want, and out to have a good time. But there was a distinct, almost physical change upon entering Wyoming. I literally breathed a sigh of relief to be back.
I took a dirt road off the highway, pulled the car to a stop and dashed out the door, running through the sagebrush, my boot heels sinking into the gray dirt. It was magical. I kicked around a little dirt and watched a thunderstorm in the distance, low sweeping clouds dipping down to the bluffs and a light rain bringing out that wonderful smell of newly wet pavement. I can't understand it, or stress it enough how good it felt to be here. Perhaps its more mental, like I have built this place up so much that nothing could ever compare <--not it; but really I think it's more than that, and as soon as I figure it out, I swear it will be reported not only here, but to my friends and family who have no idea why I do what I do. I promise.
Comments
And to Russell, we are very fortunate; and it is everything we have, and that which we do not, that keeps me here. (also, is that Red Canyon in your profile pic?)