and it's organic

Mt. Brown looking like the great guardian of all that is white. 

Back in Montana now.  So good to be here.  To roam is to know the joy of coming home.

 I journeyed into the magical ewok forest of Glacier yesterday.  The sun was shining, sky was blue, mountains were blindingly white and glorious, chandeliers of dagger-ish icicles bejeweled the streamside cliffs, and the air smelled like immortality.  I was the only human around, walking about with a pep in my step and glide in my stride.  And a perma-grin just above my chin.  Altitudinous winds ruffled the snowy feathers of mountain crowns, stirring up wisps of windblown snow clouds from every frozen peak (set against a lifegiving backdrop of blue)-- creating floating auras reminiscent of magmatic smoke, and projecting upon me the sensation that I was living in a land of waking volcanoes.  The cedar and hemlock said to me, “we are happy to see you again.”  It was the kind of day when the sun is sincere and warm but the air is cold, when the snowy ground sings clearly of crystalline winter while the cobalt sky conjectures that it is indeed spring (and the time of blooming is upon us).  They call this the shoulder season, but I felt it in my legs, lungs, blood and bones -- in my entire body, and every part of my being.  Everything was going great.  until this happened...

"And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair" - Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet