“I am on the bank of the Clearwater River, the trout are rising on the glassy river snatching small insects drifting in the lethargic current, common golden eyes are leading their ducklings around the lily pads on the opposite bank and the yellow warbler sings out of a riverside willow, serenading the distant hills and mountains. In the meadow across the river two whitetail deer linger beneath the shade of a mature pine, venturing out every so often to drink of the river. The northern flicker is constantly bobbing in and out of the forest with its undulating flight, every couple beats the sunlight striking its orange tinted flight feathers, illuminating the beautiful bird for but a second.
In the woods behind me the hermit thrush creates its most unique and musical tune, gracing the forest with a wonderful display of sounds. The sun is hung high in the expansive blue Montana sky, drying out the dirt beneath to a covering of dust. Wisps of clouds strung across the sky, as if brushed over a blue canvas, stretch out to reach each horizon. The wind is silent, the land is still and quiet. Quiet, yes quiet, that which I cannot ever get enough of.”
–Excerpt from my personal journal on July 1, 2013