The evening sky stopped me straight in my tracks. A Wyoming evening sky. The land of wide open spaces and rugged wildness. A land I am from, woven on the wind. Raised by earthy parents, that is, parents who would rather be outside than in. Carried on their backs in the original backpack carrier, sure to no longer pass the safety test of our time. But really, we loved the daring adventure of it all.
I remember the old green ford pickup truck, and Ruby the red vizsla a hyper active dog. Dusty hiking boots, and blue bandanna’s tied around our dirt and wind-swept faces. Water canteens and always a hiking stick. Exploration was a way of life, not something for another day, another time.
Looking through the window of my inheritance, I can see the very fabric of wonder woven into myself. That desire to explore, turn over the rocks, and watch the sky. The very land here lends itself to a wild ruggedness, and I realize it has had an imprint on my soul no matter where I go. And although we often complain of the wind, it is the wind that causes shifts and change, and that of which I was woven in.