Everyday Wyoming, Journal Wyoming, Photography, Yellow World

 

4 flags bs wp

The air is cold now, in the night and in the early morning. The dog noses her way under the covers: she pushes at the edge of the coverlet near my head as if she is a free dog in the forest, pushing leaves into a pile in the roots of a tree. Then we are settled again, the dog twitching to the rhythm of dreams, content to have satisfied her illusion of wildness, in a house at the edge of town, that wildness close by, two blocks down the street.  

Cold is a positive force in the dark early morning and a presence in the room. Cold is welcome, as if in waking we have come down from a place too near the sun. The sun’s radiation feels like a god’s hammer, radiation pushing on the body, with great effect, after traveling 93 million miles our way. Its power startles me, walking on the dusty ground, rocks pulverized by the weight of sunlight, the sun pushing on my back, on my shoulders, pushing me across the surface of the earth, sucking water from my mouth and skin, the vapor vanishing into the air, into a blue glassy sky, back into the world.

 

 

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Journal Wyoming / Winter-Summer

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