40 Degrees of Separation

Three hawks were halfheartedly hunting on the updraft over E Hill last Tuesday afternoon, drifting on breezes scented with my beloved blooming lilac and cottonwood and river water. After locking the gate to the plant behind me, I stopped to snap pictures of them circling over my head in long, lazy loops, looking for all the world like they were out for an afternoon stroll. It was as sunny and warm a spring morning as one could ever wish for.

Yesterday started out the same way, blindingly bright, new green leaves and blades sparkling everywhere. We drove to Rock Springs and celebrated Mark's outdoor graduation in wind so strong it slammed car doors and stole hats. Afterward, we fastened tubs of ivory and violet petunias down with bent coathangers, alternating in a row before the headstones of our family. The cemetery lies on a slope above the city where the wind races almost continually through stiff green grass. The day grew cold and gray and rain met us when we returned to Evanston after a blissful afternoon party.

This afternoon the bikers at the annual rally downtown are huddling dismally in the big tent at Depot Square, grills and bikes abandoned in the street between roadblocks. They are drinking beer and eating pizza, getting tattoos and telling big, tough biker stories. They are waiting for the wind to blow away the snow.

Welcome to Wyoming.