The small band slipped quietly through the morning’s mist that lingered along the river’s edge. They were headed south. They oozed through the white and gold of dawn with an ease of purpose. Hunting season had begun. I wondered what it would be like to live their lives. To live a life of nomadic wanderlust in a primal garden, a land of plenty and a land of constant danger? A simple life filled with complexity. “What do you see?” asked my wife quietly. I turned with small tears welling from my heart and said: “I see the wonder of what was and the sadness of what will never be again. My soul aches for them, my heart weeps and my mind asks why.”

Impressions of Yellowstone September 2003

Charles W. Bowers