The land in southeast Wyoming is a magnificent paradox.
Spreading plains and rolling hills coexist with rocky mountains
and thick velvet pines.
From the kitchen window, the view was astounding,
and Samantha Evans halted in her duties for a moment to drink it in.
The Rockies dominated the vast curtain of sky,
their peaks laced with snow,
though it was late March.
Song of The West
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Because some things can't be explained, only experienced.
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Moments later she was out the door, gazing around her in delight
at the beauty of the starlit Wyoming night. Her breath puffed
out in thin white mists as she moved. The air, tinged with frost,
carried the aroma of pine, and she drank it in greedily, enjoying the
mixed scent of hay and horses and aged wood.
She could hear the lonely sound of a coyote calling to
the full silver moon.
And suddenly she realized that she had fallen in love with Wyoming.
The spell of the mountains and plains was on her, and she was
inexplicably glad she had come.
"Goodness, you were out a long time," her sister commented
as Samantha plopped down in a wing-backed chair in front of the fire a few minutes later. "You must be frozen."
"No." Samantha stretched out her legs and sighed. "I love it out there. It's fantastic! I never realized how big the sky was before, and I
don't think I'll ever get used to the space, the openness."
Song of The West