Yesterday, I watched the sun rise over the snowy sharp peaks of Glacier National Park from a small airplane window…and followed it as it gave shadows to the Rockies all the way to Denver, and then watched as the mountains turned to mesas and the snow went to red and the sky swirled like this in the end.
It was the pinking of a day.
And now it smells like mesquite smoke and the air is dry in my nose and lungs the way it feels when it’s below zero in Montana.
Only there are bugs and birds and naked toes.
There are times to give.
And times to receive.