White shadows dance quiet in the morning. With no expectations for the day they pulse and vibrate. And as the sun rises, they escape his glare and giggle at his fiery rage. He will be gone soon. For he only rules half the day, and in the evening they will celebrate.

I wonder if the trees see color, does a tamarack know that she is different from her neighbor. Is that why an aspen will colonize the forests of Colorado? Does he know that he should hate the cherry tree ? Or do they calmly carry on all-together; singing, “all-together now…” I’d like to think the later.

An evening drive up to Hungry Horse saw us meandering around this beautiful reservoir framed by the mighty Great Northern. As the sun set I wondered to myself, what was the character of the South Fork before this great body of water?

There is truly something magnificent in the feeling of tired legs, especially in that final mile. When exhaustion dances with adrenaline to fuel a sort of reckless stupor. When only you and your legs know the miles covered but it doesn’t matter how many are left cause you can trust them to take you home. These moments in the Crown Jewel are what I chase.

I see ghosts. But not as you think them. I see ghosts in the vast valleys of these mountains. The mountains were shaped by them. As if they were your grandmother, a great influence then gone.

As I gazed upon the gentle beast I wondered his demeanor. Were his waters cool but not cold as if to be indignant. He seemed perfectly content falling slowly onto the mossy rocks below. Over and over and over again.

The Grand, she is beautiful. A crown of a mountain. She sits atop the Wyoming wilderness devoted to her rugged realm.

He boiled with rage, spat with anger, and bubbled with pain. But for all his emotion, the reaction of his onlooker was underwhelming. He would try again in an hour.

As if she raised them, Iceland is as her persons are. Intense, reserved, unwavering. But as she grows to respect you, her shell will crack, and you will feel all the depth of her character.

Purple mountains, crowned majesty, a shadow jealous of what light sees, and while longing for the glow, I whisper musings with the snow. Cotton candy candid calls me close.