On the way to visit a friend in Cheyenne, I saw a pasture of camels. I passed a field of sunflowers, all nodding their heads east.

After supper last night back in Fort Collins, I went for a walk. Perhaps I'd end up in town. As soon as I stepped into the parking lot and looked around, though, I knew I wanted to head toward the mountains. I walked to the street called Horsetooth and aimed west. The mountain ahead, so oddly shaped, it looked like-oh! a horsetooth-ha! Constant traffic eased as the street continued into a quieter neighborhood. Where I thought the street dead ended, it actually connected to a trail in a nature preserve.

The winding path through a prairie nestled in foothills, the air so fresh, the sweet language of birds I did not recognize, the exited sun still turning clouds pink, puddles reflecting sky, the dry rattle of tall trees, such a gentle sound, the comfort of the rustle of prairie grasses. Wildflower shrubs covered with great white daisy-like blooms. Three nighthawks veering about me. One whinny from an unseen horse. Such largeness.

And standing on the trail, gazing out over the grasses at the foot of the Rockies, I knew what I want.