the sky, thickly veiled in white smoke, gradually darkened. i paced the house, obsessively looking out the window as the wind picked up, swirling through branches and laying grasses down flat. it seemed the promised rain might actually arrive. like much of the west, montana’s summer has once again been plagued with drought and fire. we desperately need rain, yet the occasional thunderstorms blowing through place us on edge; every lighting strike could spark another conflagrat

Walking along an ice rink road riddled with puddles, there is a whisper in the air; an undercurrent. Spring is not here yet in the north country, but there is a promise in the breeze. Hold on just a little longer, says the wind to the buds that have begun to swell on the trees. The morning sunlight has shifted, now angling gold through the bay window. I look up and a bald eagle soars overhead, low enough that i can hear each wingbeat. vanilla caramel cashew buckwheat clusters