I can’t help but to be aware of my insignificance in the Rocky Mountains. The mountains themselves are so immense, but that’s not what makes me feel small and vulnerable. The skies are in constant flux – it’s hard to know what’s coming, and never feels wise to get comfortable with the current weather. The summer is short, and seeing flowers in bloom on a hillside is a special occasion. This terrain is so imposing, so majestic and so grand. I am a guest here so long as my host is willing to be hospitable, but when I leave, it will take no notice. This place, where the mountains meet the skies, is preoccupied in the relentless choreography it has been dancing for millennia.
