A man walks from the stage. Dark. Gloaming. The hiss of some crowd still static in the ears. In a word, James McMurtry. Musical. A slipping poet. A man sent here and there to preach gospel, types of freedom, living’s lust. I celebrate the show, the reason. It peaks and wails. Scatters and drowns. The creeks and rivers but mute roars as language takes stage. Some decide they’d like to be remembered, and so here we are.
East from Rammel Mountain Ridge, Jedediah Smith Wilderness, Targhee National Forest WY:
Time seems to pass. The world happens, unrolling into moments, and you stop to glance at a spider pressed to its web. There is a quickness of light and a sense of things outlined precisely and streaks of running luster on the bay. You know more surely who you are on a strong bright day after a storm when the smallest falling leaf is stabbed with self-awareness. The wind makes a sound in the pines and the world comes into being, irreversibly, and the spider rides the win-swayed web. -D. DeLillo
Sweetwater Station, WY.
Population 206.
Elevation 6562.
Mad Dog and the Pilgrim Bookstore:
