Laying in the top bunk of my Ma's leaky old camper /hauler, listening to the dull rumble of thunder in big sky country, not far from my childhood home. We loaded up the horses today and drove out here to the Handhills country, retreating into the last vestiges of natural habitat nestled amongst these big hills that rise up from the prairie. Driving past the monoculturistic grid that now dominates these lands, those dark hills beckoned mysteriously in the distance and promised a vast and nurturing release from the mundane and sterile.
They have kept their promise, as they have since my time began, and now here we are parked on an old road allowance that winds off into the unknown. The fresh air fills our lungs and Ma is getting a much needed rest while the ponies graze contentedly on the rain-soaked grass beside the trailer. I can hardly wait to mount up and explore this beautiful place, excited to discover what's around the next bend in the road and at the same time feeling such a peace. We are camped on the hip of the Great Mother herself...laying still yet very awake, gathering this piece of wilderness protectively in her giant, gravelly hand.