We walk along the high altitude timber trail passing tall stands of Aspen with florescent green leaves unfurling into spring. We come upon four fallen Aspen their wide trunks crossing our way, ..creamy white and black striped bark like animal skin.
Our riding boots and chaps swish along the grass filled lane dressed with fresh dung droppings. I raise my eyes across the horizon in search of silent standing elk. I breathe.
Red willow branches stretch alongside bright green stands of spring grasses which frame the lane we traverse. Buds on ends of Aspen frame the sky. We walk toward the river's sweet drone. Her song crescendos as we reach her grassy banks. We feel the full shiver of feldspar colored rocks and freshly thawed snow blending and moaning.
I breathe in the fresh ion filled air, considering the curling waves and adventurous path this spring run off has already traveled from the snowy ranges. We walk along these sweet waters below the trees and ranges, and snow fields. We walk below a whispering wide and sometimes raucous Wyoming sky only to return to waiting horses for a metronome like march down the mountain pass with antagonized antelope, a glee filled kelpie and frantic calves.
Our final descent takes us through a glade of mature ponderosa with a pine needle carpet and a bounty of fallen cones so large and brown and lustrous. We saunter through a field of wet fragrant sage and across a stream where our horses draw in cool water and sigh.
2008 & 2011 Literature & Landscape of the Horse retreat guest