A Montana Journal, ca. July 2026

They’s daises on the path down to the river. More of them, by quite the many, than peoples. They’s just being, and sharing some simple beauty for passersby. Living beneath the care and kindness of the Great Creator. 

Me and brother Matthew crossed the divide a few day back and trailed here to the Rock Creek. A fine piece of water with rocky bottom, riffles and runs what hold fat trout. Ol’ Black Tahoe, my trusted steed, heavy with our traps, whiskey and water, carried us surefooted once again over them tall rugged mountains and to this high river valley. We was aiming to fish a bit, drink a bit, and rest ourself from quite the restless world.

Perhaps that was cause for them daises to linger on my attention. They was angry at nothing. Didn’t call out, demand or insist. Or throw no stones, wishing evil on them that might lift ‘em from the earth and carry them away. Yet even so, they’d still give up their joy until they give up life itself. In these high places, I gratefully find less effort in removing myself from my own anger. More times the many these days recent, I have held stones in my hands, ready to cast at those what confound me in their doings and dealings and notions. Surely forgotten is that woman huddled at the feet of the Redeemer. And I, as one in that crowd what chased her there, anxious to do harm. A shameful part of me, daily fought and battle too often lost. 

Here, though, where the Great Creator is more clearly seen, I more clearly see my own failings. My own sins. Of which they’s a plenty. And so look again down at His feet and in mind’s eye place there some politician, a foolish view, a preacher kilt, the young’un who kilt him. Or any and all I deem in my arrogance deserving of the stones I hold. Then I lay them down, try to anyways. Though, my desire to let fly and make damage is difficult to release. Yet, with admitted reluctance, I heed the Word spoke to all who hold them stones. All, like I, who have they’s own sin. And give it up to the One what was indeed lifted from this earth, hung on a tree, and still give up the joy of His redemption for me, and all them what might huddle at His feet and ask. 

I have not died today. And that is a fine thing. Yours truly…