The Open Road

I have grown up and lived all of my life in the western part of North America. The first half was in Canada. Central Alberta. Edmonton. Edmonton is a prairie city. The city is big enough. But to get from that prairie city to another, or to the mountains of southeast Alberta and British Columbia, it took some driving. There was open road.

The second half of my life I’ve lived in Utah, and increasingly, Seattle. Lindon is bordered by the Wasatch Mountains on the east. A giant valley and the Oquirrh mountains on the west. I’ve been able to drive, many times, travel open roads, all the way down to San Diego, and all the way north to Edmonton. Twelve hours to the south. As many as 19 hours to the north.

I love the open road.

When I’m alone, I think. I sing. I talk out loud to myself. I wonder. I get sparks of ideas. It’s a kind of meditation time. When I’m with others, the same thing happens (but perhaps with a bit less singing). We think. We talk. We wonder. We laugh.

I took the above picture in southern Montana. It’s the open road that I’m on today. I’m following I-15 up to Butte, then I-90over to Missoula. Montana is known for it’s big skies. They are awesome. Breath-taking. Lot’s of time to think. Lots of time to wonder. Lots of time to be held by the big sky.

It’s not open road that I need every day. But there are some days when it feels utterly and gratefully essential.

Thanks Montana, and your lovely big skies.