Venturing back to these mountains always feels like coming home. Looking up to the ragged, cloud shrouded peaks, knowing in the morning they’ll be covered in a fresh coat of snow gives me a sense of calm and completeness, such beauty. My life really started about 20 air miles from here in this same mountain range when I had the good fortune of moving to Yellowstone Park when I was 20. Newly transplanted to the Rockies of the west I awed at the majestic views and wild land that would be my home for the next year. Soaking tonight in the hot tub in the quiet darkness brought me back to soaking in the hot pots of Yellowstone, the boiling river in the bitter winter, our long hair freezing upon exiting the pools and the quiet moonlit walk back to the Artists pot with the elk bugling not far off. There is no other sound that compares to the primal screams in the night air. The peace and silence of the vast outdoors brings to life an intensity of spirit that bonds all beings through time. Something very sacred comes over your consciousness when exposed to the smells and sounds of pure life. The energy vibrating off the forest is palpable. My life began here, the life that would bring me my three children, setting me on a course of conviction and love for the beings that would teach me the meaning of true love. The blessing of these three is almost overwhelming if I dwell on it, so I try to only pause for fleeting moments so as not to become overwhelmed. It feels good to come back home.
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