I’ve hiked up to the lookout tonight where I have a splendid view of the Sawtooths roiling and heaving like stone sharks. There was a thunderstorm this afternoon with a delicious deluge of rain and wind that wiped all the dust away. There is a new fire burning two peaks south of my mountain. I watched the jumpship fly over with boys and cargo, pressed two fingers to my lips, pressed my fingers to the sky and spoke, “Be safe, my friends.” I’m watching the fire burn. The column looks pretty from up here. Almost anything can be pretty, from a distance. The smoke is pouring up and drifting west up a series of valleys and draws, dulling the sunset to pinks and oranges. The air smells exquisite after the rain, wild and good, medicinal. I’m watching the clouds. I feel simple and easy tonight. Happy and sound. The wind is in my hair. The last light of day is on my skin.
I’ve brought a thermos of peppermint tea. The wind is cool and I pull a sweater from my pack. I make a little nest and sit down to write for a while. I wish the sun would move slower. I wish my pen would move faster. I wish Tater Tot would stop barking at chipmunks. I wish I was sleeping up here tonight. I don’t want to go down to the dark of the forest. I want to be here with the wind and stars.
