Out my dining room window are miles of pasture and rolling hills. Life is abundant. Horses, cattle, deer, coyote, fox, geese, gulls, ravens. A myriad of twittering birds and the rare elk.
Beyond the rolling hills are the Elkhorn Mountains. Young and restless volcanoes able to toss molten lava twenty miles and hit my house. The soil is littered with finger-like black rocks and the occasional black bomb -- the size of a head. They have been here for centuries nourishing my soil. But the potential for another batch arriving for dinner can not be denied.
And then there is the sky, big and bawdy as Montana likes to do.
Montana is Gods’ country. Sometimes the creators get caught out and a fast photographer can capture them for eternity. Do they feel humbled for being revealed by a mere mortal? Is that hubris? Knock on wood. Is that steam coming out of Elkhorn Peak?
To protect Red Room from the anger of the gods; Carole Mackin is solely responsible for text and photos.