Spring in Montana is a strange creature. To the untrained, or better yet, unfamiliar eye, it slinks and slithers around the edges of our bodies. If one is not careful, it might strike your reddened cheeks with its frosty palm as you move innocently toward its den and higher into the mountains. With every step, you may become numb in its presence. Your hands may feel like that have aged 50 years as you try to clear away what were once green limbs, now turned powdery white. The creature can spit and cast its giant shadow as you cut deeper into the heart of the trail.
They say there are two ways to keep it at bay. The first being a fellow who can loudly sing an Irish tune of warm days to come. Somehow this strengthens your slowed step. The second is a little trickier. You must build a fire. However, you must find the wood to feed this fire from under the belly of the beast while it sleeps. If you are careful not to wake it, the wood will be dry and fuel the fire you so desperately need to save your shivering bones.
It is said this creature does not make a noise. That its voice is dulled; a heavy silence that can only be found in the wettest of snow falls. However, I’ve heard it rumble and moan. I’ve seen it shed its leathery skin and roar with new blood rushing through its veins. I’ve seen it tamed by cool rains and calmed by the scent of lupine and sweet grass.
As with every creature in this world, there is a yearning to move. Change. Adapt. One can recognize a creature and call it by a certain name, but can not be discouraged when it does not act exactly like the ones encountered before. These creatures have evolved to fit these lands, these waters, these mountains. This Spring is not like the last or even the next one you will cross paths with, but take heart in knowing that you will have rid yourself of expectations, and in turn, quieted your mind. This way you will be sure to recognize Spring by its movements and its tracks. Most importantly, you will have gained a new appreciation for its godly might.
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