Crossing Over

Two years ago today I crossed over from Wyoming into Montana on my westward journey. Here's what I wrote:

There was a moment when I came 'round a bend and there in front of me were mountains - the real thing - snow capped and distant - so that they almost seemed like a dream at first. I had the sense that we were checking each other out. The expansiveness of South Dakota is immense, but I immediately felt as if I were already part of it as I passed through. These mountains today ... I felt like they were considering me ... "who do you think you are, young lady, to enter on our turf?".

And then, as the sun began to sink toward the western horizon, I crossed over into Montana, the landscape changed once again, and I felt at home. I sped through the shifting of the light and I saw the dark gathering behind me. It was moving faster than I was, and it spread its arms to surround me from behind, catching up with my back windows ... my driver's window ... and still I sped on ... toward the still golden horizon, toward Billings, toward my last night on the road.

It was one of the most glorious and deeply peaceful sunsets I've ever experienced.

I can remember it clearly even now. I can remember that sense of mystery and possibility that accompanied me on my travels across the country.

It hardly seems like two years could have flown by. And yet, I also feel that I've packed more experience in these past two years than in the preceeding twenty. As if I moved from a quietly flowing stream that opened, unexpectedly, into some pretty intense rapids.