Light Wind Water Stones - Bitterroot River, Blodgett Rotary Park, Hamilton, Montana

“... I take what is: 

The light beats on the stones, 

the wind over water shines 

Like long grass through the trees...”

- from “The Words” by David Wagoner (1926-2021)

Bitterroot River Dusk - Blodgett Rotary Park, Hamilton, Montana

Yesterday evening's Bitterroot River ramble conjured fond thoughts of Ratty and Mole.

"Then they got out their boat from the boat-house, sculled down the river home, and at a very late hour sat down to supper in their own cosy riverside parlour, to the Rat's great joy and contentment." - The Wind in the Willows, Ch 2, 

by Kenneth Grahame (1859-1932)

Aspen Dusk - Missoula, Montana

"The light is amber, the air still... Soon, the hooded blue of dusk will fall, followed by the darkness of night and the sky writing of the stars, indecipherable to us mortals, despite our attempts to force narrative upon them."
- from The Dream Lover by Elizabeth Berg

Hip Strip Sunset - Missoula, Montana

"...And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon, and darkness crept over the land from the east."

-John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

Clean Slate - Vaughn, Montana

“Life is grace. Sleep is forgiveness. The night absolves. Darkness wipes the slate clean, not spotless to be sure, but clean enough for another day's chalking.”
― Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace

Dusk Dusted Rowboat - Lake Mary Ronan, Montana

Hooray for blissful sister days at Lake Mary Ronan's Mountain Meadows Campground! In addition to our thankfulness for time together amidst God's beautiful creation, we were very glad that, whilst she waited in the dark for sister #1 to arrive, sister #3 never personally encountered the beastie snuffling in the bushes across the road.

Walker's Dusk View - Missoula, Montana

“Walkers are 'practitioners of the city,' for the city is made to be walked. A city is a language, a repository of possibilities, and walking is the act of speaking that language, of selecting from those possibilities. Just as language limits what can be said, architecture limits where one can walk, but the walker invents other ways to go.”
― Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking

Reed Shadows At Dusk, Charlo, Montana

Do you ever favour something so much that you want to save it - the best for last, in a sense? Perhaps the magazine you must read entirely before anyone else paws through it? Or a best-loved book that you hoped could be your own special copy?
 
As a kid, I did this regularly with food on my plate - mashed potatoes and gravy at family dinners, partly because I‘d scooped out a little moat and filled it with Mum‘s great gravy. And French fries when we ate out, guarded against sneaky sibling thievery - still my weakness; the French fries, I mean . (No comment on what this quirk might say about me.)

This photo was taken during an earlier fall drive up the Flathead Valley. Ninepipes Reservoir's shining waters beckoned me to stop and see what there was to see, which included a mystically shifting sunset, for starters (and dessert). I first walked out on the little pier in the fishing pond next to the parking lot. Trout were rising, leaving concentric rings to ripple a different surface section every few minutes. The dusk-shaded depths of the water were intense, with the last of the fish rings fading on the edges. It was so pervasively peaceful. 
So, I savoured this favourite photo, keeping it all to myself for a few weeks. 
But today is a good day to share. 
Happy Friday. 

(But the French fries are still all mine - unless you've got a bite of something else good to trade!)

Share your very own personal favourites (pretty please with a cherry on top!) or fill in the blank:  "Don't even think about sharing my ________________!" in the comments below. 
Enquiring minds want to know. 

(Time-Saving Hint: If you're in a hurry & want to avoid log-in rigamarole, submit comments as "Anonymous"; you can type your name at the end of your comments.)

Small City at Sunset, Missoula, Montana

At six
  the sun sets
escorted by puffs of blushing clouds,
distributing its last golden wealth
to the immediate heaven
while the whole cosmos
turns green and blue with envy
The mountains stretching —
   a huge black cat
motionless...
the humming city nestles cosily to rest. 
- From "City Sunset" by Celestine Kulagoe
from Some Modern Poetry from the Solomon Islands, edited by Albert Wendt (Fiji: Mana Publications, 1975)

(Click the above text links to read the full poem and learn more about the author.)

Rooftop Aerie (Nestled), Missoula, Montana

“I knew everything in the forest. I had a secret home tree, where I pretty much lived. I also liked rooftops and streetlamps. My parents would get calls saying 'He's out there again.' “ - Bas Rutten

Gold Dusted Bowl Of Sky, Missoula, Montana

Lately, procrastination has received some positive press, encouraging to those of us who flay ourselves over this oft-maligned tendency. Delaying to start that “emergency” project can actually save you time - when the project is cancelled the next morning. Sometimes, procrastination is not mere avoidance of an unattractive task, but a gut-level warning to tread cautiously. And occasionally, being delayed puts you in the right place at an opportune time. Monday’s late departure from work meant I was up on Blue Mountain at just the right time to stand in absolute awe under this gold-dusted sky and text deep thoughts to my sister ('The sheen of Heaven's streets reflected in a golden dome of sky.' Well, it sounded better on location.)

Let me know what version of amazing you encounter next time your grocery checkout line winds down Aisle 14, or the fast food isn't, or the 144-car train keeps you idling at the crossing.

Paper Moon Pine, Missoula, Montana

paper moon
pasted up
into
a nighttime sky….

There’s more to this song, but it currently consists of humming, as words haven’t yet populated into my brain.
Or maybe it’s content to be a short little song.

For those who wonder: yes, the sky really was that deep periwinkle-ine blue at 8:30 on a mid-May Montana evening.
Come see for yourself.

Evening Sky, Missoula, Montana

" As he walked back, alone on the hilly road, the evening sky took on a tremulous violet-blue that filled in and grew deeper until, suddenly luminescent and silvered, it faded to black. "In life," he had said to Orland, futilely staunching his dead brother's wound, "we are in death." Nothing lasts. Every moment is a moment passing and gone.
Yet, as he walked, and dusk faded to night, that violet-blue stayed with him in its essence, calling up his longing in the bottom of a trench for the whole sky.  It was above him now, vast and star-filled. Every star the brighter for the depth of unending darkness....
Angus walked down to the end of the wharf and felt a release that filled the sky.  Beauty had not abandoned him. He'd abandoned it. On the battlefield he'd risked life in the midst of death. And he had not risked it since. He closed his eyes and let the stars fall around him."
- From "The Cartographer of No Man's Land" by P.S. Duffy
(Wonderful book I just finished, by the way, and highly recommend.)

Leftovers, Missoula, Montana

A kayaking friend showed me her massive calf bruise last week, and then explained that, despite warmer days, our currently cold nights stave off rapid snow pack melt and thus keep river water levels fairly stable, and pretty much ideal for undaunted water fiends. (Yes, this is my simplified interpretation of what she really said.)
So, these leftover fall leaves will have to continue their waiting for high water to send them on a rapids adventure.

But devoted kayakers are zipping into dry suits and heading out to Alberton Gorge to get back in the water while the gettin' is good.

Urban Fly Fishing, Missoula, Montana

"But here I am anyway, casting at dusk, while off in the distance the clink 
of glasses as the bride and groom move between tables. 
Here, the wandering edge of riffle, so close, and the towering cottonwoods,
so close, and the boulders breaking current and the current exposing boulders 
in the wash of white water I can only see out of the corner of my eye..." 
From "Evening Hatch" By Cameron Scott 
Enjoy the full poem here.

Dusk Reflections, Lee Metcalf Wildlife Refuge, Stevensville, Montana

Ahhh, reflections at dusk on the Metcalf Refuge….peace steals into your soul and leaves you smiling as you drive home in the near dark.