Driving 250 Miles of Montana

At 20 miles the rising sun makes bronze and silk of the low hills you know so well.

At 30 miles a metallic river unfurls from a nearby mountain range and curls across a small plain to meet you.

At 70 miles a coyote bounds across the open road in front of you and streaks across a seemingly endless field of wheat stubble.

At 100 miles several mountain ranges gather around you—their profiles like steamships crossing on an ocean of grass.

At 105 miles you roll down your windows and allow the sharp smell of sun-warmed sage to swirl through your car.

At 120 miles it is all sky.

At 140 miles a new river has drifted across the landscape and now gently oscillates alongside you.

At 170 miles you cross through a tiny cowboy town that you have always liked.

At 200 miles a truck stacked with a skyscraper of hay passes you in a mist of alfalfa flecks and Timothy stems.

At 250 miles you arrive in Billings but are only halfway there.

--Mitchell Hegman