July Ghosts

Halfway down the trail I paused, sat on one of the small rocks that are not entirely successful at keeping 4-wheelers off the trail, and I simply experienced the twilight. The sounds of the highway were muffled, and the birdsong was sporadic. The wind rustled through the grasses, and then, a fox rustled by - he too paused when he caught sight of me - and then he moved on. A few moments later, two smaller foxes scurried by in the other direction, glancing at me out of the corners of their eyes.

On my way back up the hill, I like to sit for a moment at the crossroads by the mining museum - there's a little metal bench that gives a perfect view of the Pintlers and every evening it's different and beautiful. This evening did not disappoint - the skies a rosy pink just above the horizon. That time of evening is full of rich silhouettes - and I noticed something unusual up the road - a bird on a fencepost? No .. a deer had paused and was just stepping delicately across the road to disappear into the evening.

The past week has been busy - friends visiting, the folk festival, and the annual picnic for the watershed committee. I appreciated the rising heat today - the slower day - the time to do what I needed to do at my own pace.

July has, in the past, been a challenging month for me - and this past weekend - a challenging set of memories for me. July 10th is the anniversary of my first husband's death, and the 12th is the anniversary of his funeral. July 11th, oddly enough, is the anniversary of the divorce from my second husband. When I received the notice of that particular court date - it sealed my understanding of the finality of the ending of that relationship - bookended, as it was, by the memories of death.

I've written about the re-claiming and re-invention of self that has gone on for me since I've settled into Butte. Many others have noticed a similar experience as they make a new home, a new life here. Last year, my first summer in Butte, was the first year that the 10th - 12th of July wasn't centered around mourning - but instead - centered around joy and celebration. The folk festival was a significant part of that, as was my involvement with the arts foundation and the community that I'd discovered.

This year - I again celebrated Life rather than death. The opening night I danced to the rich Chicago blues - I was surrounded by the landscape that I have come to love so well - and I reconnected with a friend who has also become dear to me. The memories I carried gently through the weekend were no longer bitter - they were simply sweet.