Thick stormy blue clouds hover just over the western mountains, seperating them between the dusky sky. They look like clouds I saw so many nights around Glacier this summer - dark, deep, gargantuan ... over Lake McDonald or the Middle Fork of the Flathead River.
We have quite a few picture windows in our home, and moments like these I'm not sure if I should bask in the view beyond the glass or savor what's on my side - The warm glow and candles and lamp light against wood walls. Emily, Tikka, and Geronimo all curled up, napping, on Kristin's futon, while a load of drying laundry tumbles in the background. Quiet - peaceful - like a Christmas Carol in the dead of winter.
It's dark so early these days. Almost 6, almost dark. SUCH a stark difference to our 11pm dusks in Glacier this summer. Sometimes I think we have a long cold dark winter ahead of us. Sometimes I'm excited for that.
After two days of wandering through passing storm clouds, wind whipped prarie lands, mountaintops, and the corners of my heart I thought I might sit to write - unload a bit. But sitting here and typing here I realize that's not where I'm at.
I climbed up, over, and down my first mountain since May on our family adventure today. To watch clouds race shadows over a landscape, have feathery larch needles shed in my fingers, and see the whole glacial lake missoula valley where I live... made me love Montana. Love mountains. Love the journey.
But at home now I realize I have little understanding of love and there is little to unload.
Just the blues of dusk, the glow of small lights, grunting dogs, and two captivating available women.
It is what it is.