I am still drunk from last night.
We have not celebrated a sunset since leaving Morro Bay. Mostly, it's because we retire early while keeping Samwise at the center of all equations. Besides, we tend to be part of the Sunrise Club. Our week along the Oregon Coast would have offered us the glory of the sun sinking into the Pacific, but our itinerary changed to tack toward Virginia and our appointment with Rachael Kleidon.
Another casualty has been our time in Bison Country. We're here, but not for long, and our twelve days were shortened to five. We bounced into Missoula, down into Yellowstone, over to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and yesterday, we arrived here at the foot of Mount Rushmore. We shift to Badlands National Park today, and after a final fleeting dawn visit with the bison and pronghorn tomorrow, we leave the West.
Our visits with our favorite fellow mortals have been truncated, but it's been damn powerful!
Since arriving in Yellowstone and our first two minutes with the elk, Samwise's spirit ascended. He's still not himself, but our time with the Wilds of the Great Plains has awakened him.
These dances have always been the last of our Western swing; the notes can be bittersweet. But to witness Samwise engaged and utterly enthralled with the bison, elk, pronghorn, mule deer, and prairie dogs has me giggling again.
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