To Western Winter Reckoning Yields

Spring comes late to Yellowstone. Though my family and I were there in early June, winter had still not loosened its grasp entirely. While Indiana experienced summer heat, I donned hat and gloves for most of the five days I was in the park. 

But, unlike the weather, the animals and plants follow their own strict schedule of renewal. Bison and elk calves roamed the meadows, grazing and nursing. Bears gamboled about the hillsides, cubs in tow, completely unaffected by the hordes stopping to photograph them (bear jam became a much-used term). Purple lupine and yellow Helianthella stood in vibrant contrast to the vivid green of the valleys and hillsides. It was glorious. A canvas evident of God. 

For, unlike the beasts, we know beauty. The appreciation of beauty is singular to humanity. If you consider the art, poetry, and prose of the world, you will understand that we are set apart. That we weave color and words distinguishes us. It is a gift.

Cogito ergo sum. I think, therefore I am.

I do think. I do write. I do admire the red-winged blackbird, therefore I do believe in God.

The Glory of Morning

Mountain rise, crack and groan.

Bowl of heat, sulphur and loam.

Feathered pine and rocky hoof.

Quiet run of ranging wolf.

Come, light, come,

To me surround.

Come, light, come.

To joy abound.



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