The red summer sun sets behind Rattlesnake outside my west-facing window.
Nonetheless, my soul remains on the rolling hills of the Palouse.
It was just my trusty one-year-old Blue-Heeler and Australian Shepherd mix, Maizy, and myself, as we made our way up the winding trail of Moscow Mountain’s West-Twin peak.
It was on our descent that I had the realization that I mentioned at the beginning of the article: Missoula is that place that has that something for me, that inexplicable magic.
Soft white flakes dance in the air like thousands of tiny Tinkerbell’s, swirling up, down, and side-to-side with any breeze or movement.
There are some places on earth that can crawl deep into a person’s heart, and inspire an insatiable desire to explore, discover, and be nomadic.
The woods and undergrowth were still in their winter dormancy for the most part, but nonetheless the crisp smell of the woods refreshed our senses, and in a deeper sense, our souls.