And I’ll be up here
Where the air is clear
Where it feels like something is about to begin
Where’s it’s all that I am, and all that I might
(Some lyrics that I stole from somewhere)
Observations while driving from Cheyenne to Billings:
- A tumbleweed fence. That is, a 4-strand barbed wire fence so choked with tumbleweeds as to give the appearance of a tumbleweed hedge. Five feet tall, and a foot thick, extending along the interstate for a full quarter mile.
- Children sledding, on a flat field, pulled behind an ATV. Ah, sweet reminder of my youth!
- A smoldering trash heap, billowing thick black smoke into windswept, empty skies, visible for miles. Gross? Sure. But when you live in the middle of nowhere between Casper and Buffalo, you’re 50 miles from the nearest gas station. It’s not like there’s trash service to haul away your rubbish.
Bozeman is everything it should be. It’s dark (dark dark dark). Winter must be dark so that summer days may be long and languorous. It’s caked in snow, and where the snow has been cleared away, ice. As well it should be, to keep one vigilant, to keep winter’s brown suppressed with winter’s white, to remind that one lives on the fringes of comfortable, settled society.
