There are times when I wonder how I can be so fortunate to live in Wyoming.
This past week was one of those times.
Day after day of sapphire skies and golden leaves.
I feel blessed, grateful, and incredibly lucky.
Please let me share some of my good fortune with you.
I live in a small town of about four thousand people.
I find it odd that most people drive -
When you can walk or bicycle anywhere.
Any day of the week I can be out on Clear Creek in two minutes.
And every day there are new treasures along the trail.
I take it for granted that antelope fly across the grasslands.
Somehow, I think that since I see these graceful animals any time -
So can most people. I know that is not so.
It is something rare.
I don't know about you, but I love trees - all kinds.
Out in Wyoming, a tree is a pretty special thing.
The High Plains stretch out to the horizon -
with nothing taller than sagebrush.
And then you come to a creek lined with cottonwoods.
An ancient cottonwood can have a trunk twenty feet around.
No sooner do the snows melt than the air fills with spring cotton.
In summer the cottonwood provides an island of luxuriant shade.
And in autumn the cottonwoods are simply glorious.
I find myself wandering around the creek bottoms -
Looking at tree after tree - searching for more gold.
And then I look up.
Wandering further, I come into a meadow.
The grasslands are blond-brown and brittle come early October.
The thistle is considered a noxious weed.
But I love its magenta bloom in summer
And its spare stalk that stands all winter.
The aspens do not have much color this year.
Perhaps it is the drought or a fungus or climate change.
But I hope to see their leaves shimmering in the breeze next year.
Did you know that the largest living thing on earth isn't a sequoia?
It's an aspen grove - hundreds, even thousands of trees linked together.
Of course, the trees are here because there is water.
Water is the source of all life.
It is easy to see in Wyoming.
Why is it that we humans are drawn to water?
Am I still a child because I hop across the rocks -
Until I find a perfect one in the middle of the creek -
And sit and listen to the water?
Once I have left the main trail, I rarely see anyone.
I have the joy of solitude.
The chance to smell sagebrush -
To hear the buzz of the last fly -
And to see a world increasingly rare.
I can ride my bicycle down dirt roads and trails -
Exploring new places every day.
New, because each day holds different qualities -
Of light, of season, of my own perspective.
One of my favorite spots is a place I call Little Yosemite.
It is where Clear Creek bursts out of the mountain wall.
Last week I took the preacher's son with me -
But I rarely see kids out along the creek.
Something has changed.
As the mountain walls close in around Clear Creek -
The roar of water grows and grows, echoing off the rock.
The urge to hop boulders becomes irresistable.
It is always difficult to decide when to turn around.
But finally, it's time to head back.
Some days, I ride up to the highway -
Then zoom downhill to town.
But not in autumn.
There's always the hope to see another tree -
Gilded by the late afternoon sun.
Yesterday, I came upon a flock of wild turkeys.
In winter, they sometimes feed in my yard -
Sunning themselves on my deck.
I am incredibly lucky.
By any measure, I am working poor.
There are many things that I do not have.
But there is so much more that I do.