There's a place I love on the Birch Creek Rd where, after winding around a few small hills, the road rises and drops again, leaving you with the view of the entire north side of the Beaverhead Valley, the Tobacco Root Mountains, the Highlands. It's breathtaking every time you see it. The graceful blue transition of foothills to mountains, the velvet soft roll of hay fields. This land doesn't often look soft. But at the beginning of June it changes. There is this surprising lushness on the desert, the smell of cottonwoods, and the impossible blue of sky.
Today, as you drove past this spot, you stopped.
You left all the windows down, turned the radio up,