I feel very fortunate to live in Wyoming.
On any day of the week - especially on Wednesdays -
I can go out to the plains or the hills or the mountains.
And I always find enchantment and wonderment.
Today I visited the Bud Love Wildlife Refuge at the foot of the Bighorn Mountains. It was a generous gift to the state of Wyoming from the Love family to protect critical habitat. I cannot escape the thought that today, on the busiest travel day of the year, I can find complete solitude. The refuge will soon close until May 15th, so I feel especially blessed to be here.
My outing begins on my trusty bicycle.
I'm not as young or as thin as I used to be.
And it may require a lower gear than in years past.
But that doesn't really matter.
The two-track heads over a low ridge before dropping into a dry valley.
It is a disarmingly warm day for late November in Wyoming.
The sun is low, but bright. The breeze is light.
I am surrounded by a carpet of amber under a bright blue dome.
Although the creeks flowing out of the mountains have water in the spring,
By summer they are dry, by autumn not a drop of water remains.
And yet, their courses are visible on the landscape -
As red willows and deep sagebrush.
A ridgeline in the distance beckons.
But first I find a perfect rock upon which to recline.
Cleopatra-like. And take it all in.
There is not a single sound. Complete silence.
As I approach the ridge, I abandon my bicycle -
And set out on foot through a sea of crisp grasses.
There is no trail, nor is there any need for one.
I am free to wend my way however I wish.
A raven circles high overhead.
He inquires what I am up to in a raucous voice.
My only company - - all day.
I have decided to call the rocks above - a temple.
Certainly there is no more beautiful temple on earth.
It calls me upwards.
As I approach, a stone door guards the inner sanctum.
Snow dusts the shadowy hillsides -
Like the powdered colors of the festival of Holi.
The door opens.
I look back far below -
On a world left behind in every way.
Sky, grass, stone, sunshine, silence.
I find a lunch spot among the obelisks.
And stretch out, toasty warm in the sunshine.
The weathered faces speak of eons past,
But this very moment is all that matters.
I look upwards.
Too soon, it is time to head back down.
It is, after all, late November - in Wyoming.
But oh, what an expanse lies before me.
I look backwards at the temple -
Its rocks capped by a halo of light.
And do not suffer the fate of Lot's wife.
I wind my way downwards through the hills.
The light and warmth are fading quickly.
But there is still the touch a touch of color in a draw.
I find a slope with especially deep, dry grass.
And, of course, have to flop down.
Deep, dry grass requires flopping down.
So I leave you with these few images and impressions.
And trust that you have the opportunity
To find similar beauty wherever you are.