There is little that quite commandeers my heart like a Montana skyline at sunrise.  In the waxing light over the expansive horizon I imagine all range of possibilities – of log cabins, cold rushing rivers, and a life that I have long yearned for.  In a Montana sunrise, it seems all the secret whispers of my heart are possible.

There has always existed in me this love of Montana.  Wyoming and Colorado too, have an arresting ability to encapsulate my dreams and hold them steadfast in a single moment as the sun rests delicately on the horizon.  But, Montana is the real keeper of my vision.

The harsh land, softened by the hazy light of evening, or morning,  holds before me the promise of life unburdened by trivial urban worries and constraints. I love Montana the way one loves a hazy memory of childhood, like a truism in my heart that knows not its origins.

Though I am not sure how to make life in Montana work, its romantic call to me doesn’t quiet with time or passing years.  Since I first laid my eyes on the windblown prairie, the solemn mountains, when I was 12 or 13, those images have burned in me.  Montana calls to me in a language I was never taught, but know instinctively.


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