Winter has erased the pasture, and all that remains of the fence is a zigzag of weathered rails marching toward the mountains. The snow has been combed into long, wind-sculpted ripples that hold the first blue of the day.
Far off, a second fence runs thin and straight across the meadow, as if a ruler had been laid on the horizon. The fence draws the eye up the meadow, past the cabin and the glowing trees, to the summits, and reads less like a boundary than an invitation.
I sought to catch the light as it began to touch the crowns of the aspens and the cabin in the distance. In the sky above, shades of lavender and rose became prominent, bringing the entire landscape into an array of color.
