The sky lightens. Delicate coral pink at the horizon fades to a delicate shell blue, if there is such a shade, and flows up the arc of the sky to become cobalt. The horizon is not a flat line any more, with its southern horizon punctuated by the irregular rounded buttes of the Bear Paw Mountains of north central Montana. Now the horizon is humped with bristly hills, all around. Cows still bawl in the distance, though. I think this sound was born with me, embedded in my bones. And one of my horses munches contentedly within easy sight of…
