Thursday, September 14, 2006
Song of the West
We saw a small herd of pronghorn this morning. A meadowlark veered away from our car at the last moment, narrowly missing being hit. Fields were either huge, from horizon to horizon, or varied and irregular, carved out of rock-strewn or eroded terrain. There were lots of odd-shaped pastures like this, too. For much of the day rivers or creeks were visible from the road, their verdure a relief in the dry landscape, which is colored in various pale ochres, ornamented with the dull greens of the junipers and small conifers.
Tonight we are in MIles City, Montana, named after General Nelson Miles, who came here to "control" the Indians, according to the AAA handbook. We are tired and the dogs are all asleep.
at 8:09 PM