Broken silence surrounds me. Silence broken by dogs pounding through snow-smashed grass. Silence broken by woodpeckers working their way towards tonight's dinner. Silence broken by the wind's gentle caressing of treetops. And occasionally, silence broken by roaring airplanes, ambivalent to my whereabouts. After all, escaping the city is hard.
I rest against a rock ledge, my lounge for the afternoon. The ledge presides over a hunting camp littered with half burnt logs and the occasional stray aluminum can. Overall, this is a clean city.
The aspen trees go about their daily commute upwards, while melted snow travels downhill, creating little snow melt train tracks through the city. This city is busy, if you have patience, and know where to look.
Other inhabitants of this city are present too. I discover their calling cards while walking the city's sidewalks. Nearing a mound of grass, I find elk poop, a sign of recent life passing by. Climbing a rock crevice, I stumble upon a moose vertebrae, a sign of lost life, and fulfillment of other life in turn. As I write these words, a baby spider crawls upon the field of my page as if to say, "Don't forget me, this is my city too."
Often this city is cold, but today the sun graces its skies. I sweat as I climb my rock ledge. After finding my lounge, I strip down most of my clothes to cool off. Nakedness is encouraged in this city, and I am a city girl.
