Snow is replacing itself on top of overlapping mountains in the early days of June. Change is lurking about in the refreshingly clean Montana air, as if a different address in a foreign state was not enough to perfect my sensitive equilibrium, I instinctively zero in on an up and coming shift in the atmosphere’s hidden but well-known magnetic poles. I keep having dreams about my life back home, but friends I have made here in a short amount of time have yet to make their way into my nightly regime. Kindred spirits wander these ancient halls, and as I mingle with each and every one of them, I am not yet lost in the outskirts of Yellowstone’s exposed northern side. This is all very nice, but I have yet to do what I came here to do, and I have yet to see what I came here to see. Will I want to leave when my departure date arrives?
June 3, 2001