|Flat gray, a reflection of the day, raw, chilly, and wonderful|
Vast country is an impressive pull in my life. In no uncertain terms it's the reason I moved to Colorado. Every time I stand before it ready for another adventure, unintended, I follow the same routine. I run through a mental checklist of what's needed to carry with me in the event I bump into troubles, organize my belongings, make sure I'm carrying plenty of water, and check to make sure my truck keys are secured a minimum of three to five times. Then, I stand before nature and all of it's awesome size, smile at my own insignificance, breath in deeply, and then take a step forward.
Space. An openness with liberty to stretch my legs and not be burdened with having to engage in conversation. Time. A passing in which I allow myself an opportunity to evaluate my life and determine what's next, or remorse over the mistakes I've made. Connection. The inspiration I take in from the world around me and the reparation I receive from watching my dog go about his duty without knowing or even caring why. Solitude. It's good to spend time alone every so often.
This was such a day:
|The first of the day's quarry|
|The idiot in between romping|
|Bristlegrass seeds, preferred food of scaled quail|
|All old wood tells a story, I wish they were all recorded|
|Blood on the tailgate|
|He has a few moments of elegance, not many, but a few|
|A miscalculation in my wanderings. That white spec is my truck. Can't see it? Neither could I. Scamp, I thought immediately of you when I stepped onto this road and truly felt the gravity of Eight More Miles.|