Helena, Montana.


We’ve seen this before; a boy standing in a place without parking lots, sodium phosphate lighting or stains of a mercurial, fuzzy sort. As always, he is flying beyond such trivial things in search of the smile he can take back to earth as a showpiece for the miles logged, the journey undertaken, the golden brilliance achieved. Once again, he stands somewhat awkwardly, arms akimbo and sporting fingers splayed as peaceful triangles. Happy as a lark or a man who just traversed a minefield unscathed, he sees the sea [sic] of rolling, tree-stunted hills beneath him as the face of a teenager yet unable to find continuity in his facial hair. Sun bathes his tanned, wind scarred face. Adrenaline and fatigue mix a heady, much-loved cocktail in his working, worn muscles. The day will pass, but the moment is one being committed to eternal memory. I think.


*photo courtesy of A. Tendick.

[Nearly] lost photos from a Christmas in Alaska…

1 & 3 – Bridger National Forest, Wyoming.
2 – Gros Ventre Wilderness – Wyoming.

Elko, Nevada.


Too much light as in there is never enough. Oh my! the sunset, as seen from mild slopes beneath those inverted incisors the Tetons, can bring such slow, nearly stillborn, magic into the eyes. For those who read what I write, I welcome you. If you bet on only the photos, then I wave bon voyage! — Lo. Jackson Hole presents one with a consummate, American view of beauty. Blue mountains distant, white and with real, actual tree lines. Air that tastes of that which surrounds – distance. Boulders of passing clouds taking on light, shedding light, disintegrating often enough that you don’t expect them to ever answer any of your questions.

I’ve no qualms with any of it tonight. In fact, tonight finds words pouring forth at a rate I’ll call prodigious, invective, and fun. I am a lucky soul; a traveler inclined and full of: towns that appear like conscious thoughts in a dream, thick Interstate snows that channel a single reality, furious scribbblings (and the want to pursue them to any end) wide, drenched plains of space, and on on on.

Think of where you start, where you end. Thought babbles and burbles in your head like the best open stream that you can’t help but cross. Intimidating, this world of ours. Size, space and continuum means that in one moment the crow feeds at the foot of the cow and the next has you launching interrogative missives to the 11,000^th passed electric wire.

Pack up the cats! Rejoice! Fat gray clouds of the afternoon lose sunset oranges and reds with slick, timed ease (think: blood draining from a face). I see it all happen[ing]. The chickadees tornado through the aspens, knocking off whatever snows still cling to the branches – meat on, or off, the bone. Breath comes out of my lungs to look around. Time stands where time should — still. Darkness asks lights permission to invade. A soundless, but tuneful, evening walks into your life.

How can we ever say we’ve had enough?