The grizzly throws its head into the wind because it smells like food and death, and God.
The timber wolf howls deep into the darkness with the call of a thousand forefathers.
And the falcon banks its wings, casting peregrine shadows below.
Leafy, boreal scents spill the first secrets of its existence.
Sentinel jack pines, bare on their northern exposures, stand like woodland scarecrows along its edges.
And tannic-colored rivers cut through its heart like veins, bringing to its banks, both the promise of new life and the threat of humankind.
Through the language of solar flares and thunderstorms, the endless sky evangelizes to an ancient congregation of century trees, millennial rocks, and water from another time.
The moon and stars, no longer restrained by urban reflections, bathe pine needles and glacial moraine in a blue, soothing, lullaby light.
And the wind, Mother Nature’s whisper and scream, echoes through slot canyons and across columbine meadows.
Joy and tragedy magnify.
Confidence shakes as souls renew.
Morning breaks, night descends, and time stands still.