It could be anywhere, just a weathered cabin in the woods, the only running water a spring that bubbles up from the rocks, makes its merry way a mile or two, its existence determined by the weather and spring snowmelt until it casually drifts back underground. Life is governed by the rise and fall of the sun, the seasons of the year and the daily tasks required for survival. Nothing is taken for granted. The first pasque flowers pushing through the spring snows are greeted with joy, and rain all through the night without turning to snow is a sign that the long winter is drawing to an end. Patches of wild strawberries are savored, the summer sun hot on my shoulders as rich flavors burst in my mouth, the bounty of nature rich and fruitful. Dream filled meadows lying soft and sleepy below mountain peaks, with snow still crowning their rocky brows. Beauty and perfection, barely touched by mans hand, as it has existed for thousands of years, reminding me of how short our human life really is.

The wild is out there today, calling me, and it feels like home.