The light is harsh and endless as the sky.
She stands in the wind, listening to the dust settling and the large birds calling in the distance,
And she imagines that they are calling her name, but from this place she cannot be sure of the nature of their calls.
She breathes in the bitterroot and the sage, and lifting her hands to the sky, lets out a cry of her own.
For her heart, already claimed by this land, its creatures, and its Creator, yearns now for another.
She carries within her a vast store of love, meant to be given,
And she prays only that one day she may be rid of it.
And she will be.
For she knows that everyone eventually falls in love under this Montana sky.