Faerie Caps, Missoula, Montana

When traipsing through the pasture, it behooves one to pay attention to what lies amidst the grass - and not only to keep your shoes clean and fresh. The very thing you seek to avoid may be catalyst for delightful growth. 

(Ooo, such sly analogy! You gotta admit that was pretty deep - and I'm not just talking about horse pucky!)

Fragile Strength C (3 of 3), Missoula, Montana

“Life is strong and fragile. It's a paradox... It's both things, like quantum physics: It's a particle and a wave at the same time. It all exists all together.” -Joan Jett

Fragile Strength B, Missoula, Montana

It is sometimes the most fragile things that have the power to endure and become sources of strength.--May Sarton (May Sarton: Excerpts from a Life)

Fragile Strength, Missoula, Montana

 “Life is more fragile and precious than I can comprehend, but believe me, I'm trying.”- John O'Callaghan

Poured Poetry, Shelby, Montana

"We are not all poets

But God pours poetry
In, above, around us
In everything we see"

 - from "We Are Not All Poets" by Janet Martin

Visit Janet at Another Porch and dive into more lyrical sunshine - or any other strain of thoughtful word weavings she has on offer.

Heaven’s Landscaping, Missoula, Montana

This day, dear ones bid a formal farewell to a loving man, who stepped up as an extra dad when I desperately needed a good one. All these years, it’s been great comfort knowing his solid, practical self puttered about the home place, and a visit ensured his “Hello, daughter!“ greeting. Now memory must deliver his wisdom and (often corny) humour - but what a treasure trove he left in the minds and hearts of family and friends.

On days like this, I look to the sky. I like to think of fabulous clouds as heaven’s front yard landscaping, setting the stage to welcome travelers home. I know, I know, maybe the literal location isn’t just a hop, skip, or jump beyond the firmament we see. But since I haven’t been there yet, I just don’t know; and it could be, so dive with me into that fanciful thought.

You are dearly missed, Dad, and we can’t even realize yet how much.
Happy trails, until we meet again. In salute to your genuine cowboy self, here’s a horsey landscape quote that I think you’d like, from one of my favourite western genre authors.

“There were clouds at the mountains, and the snow pack reflected the sour-lemon sun into one of the most beautiful and perverse sunsets I had ever seen. The clouds were dappled like the hindquarters of an Appaloosa colt, and the beauty kicked just as hard. The head wind rattled the bare limbs of the cottonwoods as the longer branches swayed, and the remnants of grass and sage shuddered close to the ground.”
-From “The Cold Dish” by Craig Johnson

Rushing Into, Missoula, Montana

Thoughts From A Culvert Sighting Along the Clark Fork River: Rushing into the river, moving forward, enough planning to focus in the desired direction, but destination specifics unknown; to immerse, engage, travel further, become more. Not unlike faith some days.