Driving long distances can be boring and torturous for some.
I like it a lot.
Tres contemplative.
The rain did its busy washing between Pocatello and Swift Current, Saskatchewan. All the spaces in between were filled with scrubbing, breezygusty wind, hail and obese raindrops.
I had to pull over and listen to it drum the roof of my truck in the pass above Helena.
I had to pull out a pencil and write.
I stopped in Montana on the Missouri River and sighed and strolled about. I followed the tracks and set my bird dog free for a run in the hills. He and I thought we might stay there forever and fish for a spell but the highway called us on.
Onward.
And when I reached those Great Northern Plains I had to stop my truck, stomp through the stubble and open my heart up wide to let the last strains of the sunset pour down into my soul. Summer sunsets on the prairies are the building blocks of dreams. They also are a delicate liquid ghost in the quills of the flight feathers of most birds but I’ll share this hypothesis at a later date.
The light lasts late into the night.
The bewitching hours are nullified.
The fields fade into green in a solid gasp as far as I can see.