Mornings in Wyoming

Every morning that I have been here, my little niece comes into my room and wakes me - usually with some token of love, such as a kiss, or a pat on the face, or Princess Crackers (which is what she named those little gummy snacks...adorable). Despite the usual ungodly hour she decides to do this, I still find it one of the absolute best ways to wake up. Her little voice shouting, "Tiffy! Tiffy! Wake Tiffy!" is one of the warmest welcomes to wake to.

I cannot seem to find the words or thoughts I want to write today. I tried to think of a topic worth expressing some heartfelt words to - maybe my heart, maybe a flower, maybe just the beauty of this place - but it didn't feel right. I simply wish to write of the last few days, write what my plans are for the coming weeks, write to write.

It seems the days have a similar semblance around this place. I wake in the morning, either have the house completely to myself, or sometimes share it with Alicia and Alexis. On days I am alone, I usually prepare my coffee, drink it with soy, sit outside on the porch and watch the relationships of this earth play out before my eyes - the wind moves through the turning leaves, the deer find food, the golden dragonflies hover above the cattails and lay their eggs in the water. Their days have semblance too, just like mine. I often wonder if, although seemingly simplistic, their lives claim more absolute purpose than ours. They have simple goals, but they fetch them out with a ferocity that makes me stop to watch. They deserve to be looked at, modeled after; they deserve my attention.

Sometimes, I'll take my sketch book and graphite, complete quick studies of them - try to capture the beauty of their tasks. I fail at this most times, becoming too engrossed in the perfections of it, rather than the raw beauty it entails. My eyes move from deer to jackrabbits, to thistle and thorn - it is all beautiful. This place inspires me, causes me to stop and watch, and that is something irreplaceable.

I usually take the dogs for a quick walk around the pond - Sasha constantly running ahead, looking back, stopping, then returning. The pug, Bella, is much too old for running. Her steady canter is good enough pace, yet she often lags behind, finding something to sniff, or simply stopping to take a rest. I can hear her behind me wheezing; I chuckle. With each step I take, dozens of grasshoppers shy away from my boots and hop in every direction. Many hit my legs, stick to my pants or leggings, and I constantly flick them off. This place is alive - untouched by too much humanity. Nature is prevalent here, it runs rampant and I love the intensity.

I love the quiet. I can hear the wind, hear the leaves rustle in reply; I can hear my thoughts. Mornings here are soothing, they are romantic - full of life, love, and surprise. Good morning, Wyoming. You make my hurting heart feel warm.