A black-billed magpie crosses the barbed boundaries of a wire fence to defend its winged playfulness in a big sky landscape. Perched upon a wooden post, it scouts its next move. More elegant than its cousin crow, the black-and-white formalwear of the magpie obscures its irreverent posturing above the sagebrush plain. ♨
On this sad day of remembrance, I wonder what the seagull recalls from these same crystal blue skies.
The full moon sets into a penumbral eclipse, sinking into the tree-lined ridge with spidery fingers of arboreal silhouettes etched across the lunar surface.
Recalling a magical day in Yellowstone National Park that changed our lives and sent us on a journey that we are still traveling forty years later.
No moose at these falls, at least not when I have been there. Too steep, too close to a highway buzzing with autos and motorhomes, even a motorcycle or two, or a whole gang now and then. Refreshing deep waters at their base make these more like summer swimmer falls, inviting on hot days for those who seek out the…