Montana Begins

Only a minute ago, the sun peered above the easternmost hills amid a flushing halo of thin clouds.  Now, standing at my bay window, I watch as our valley—broad and blue-white with frost and snow—expands from the cobalt darkness.  The air around my house sparkles.  Above the Elkhorn Mountains, the sky has become so terribly blue it almost hurts your eyes to stare at it for more than a few seconds.

The clarity of view is amazing.  The distant pines stand as sharp and tight as collections of upright knives.  The far mountains stretch across the horizon like a string of dark horses brought to a standstill while crossing the plains—the cloud wisps caught in the air above them like mist from their heavy breathing.

These are the mornings that make enduring our Montana winters worthwhile.

In a while, deer will begin to cross the open spaces.  Dark winter birds will fall up against the clouds, calling out as they ascend.  But, for now, this all belongs to me.

Montana begins.

--Mitchell Hegman