The Pronghorn

In our truck leaving Wyoming years later, I sat staring out the window, noticing the changing landscapes and transitions between each one. A new journal sitting in my lap, I began to fill it with impressions of those places that captured my attention.

The patina of an old tin roof, shades of green transforming rock formations with sagebrush that softens their surface. The yellow and red wildfowers providing pops of colors in swaths of green grasses. Grasses blowing in the wind - settling my mind. The lone Pronghorn standing in the mountain meadow, eyes forward, strength in posture and softness of eyes.

I wasn't escaping the diffculty of transition, I was present within it. The journal in my lap wasn't a refuge from reality but a way of engaging more fully with what was actually happening.

Instead of imagining myself elsewhere, I was gathering "fragments of awareness" from exactly where I was.

The pronghorn's posture, strength paired with softness.