Finding Home in Montana

“What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.” Crowfoot, Native American warrior and orator

September morning

september - 1

09.02.15  And, then it was September and it has all changed.  I feel like the Phoenix rising from the ashes.  The fires are still smoldering out of our view, but the cold fronts blew the smoke away, leaving us with a cool and cloudy beginning to September.   More cold is due to arrive this week-end, with rains, and maybe even a little snow in the mountains, and there won’t be any 70 degree temperatures until next week.  It is what I was dreaming about, yet, gulp.  Summer is gone.  Autumn is knocking at our door.

Autumn’s Door, by Tom Hennen

I have been following the seasons around and this one, autumn, is here again, new, turning the sumac red.  The clouds are heavy, hang low, and scud across the horizon, dragging their dark, ragged edges over the brightly lit grain stubble.  Sometimes it’s as though a door has opened into the landscape so that we can see clearly each leaf, the sharp outline of each grass blade, and know for an instant just why we are here on this earth that is so loaded down with beauty it is about to tip over.

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