The West stands out as the face of the Earth, showcasing her wrinkles and age with grace and majesty. Time has morphed her into a wondrous sight of peaks and caps and valleys and ridges.
Earlier tonight, I returned from my first visit to Montana, and if you were to tell me I would utter words like those above a week ago, I would have branded you a liar; such transcendental and mystical babble was more fitting wafting out of a microbrew groupie's wordchute after the lifts close.
It is moving, though, the sight of a landscape so still it can only be called a painting. So powerful it belongs on the back of a newly minted dollar bill.
More to come on the West at a later date...time to see friends. Good night.