There’s nothing quite like the grandeur of the black mountains against an ever so darkening sky after the sun has faded and gone to rest until its early rising. The aroma of the bounce sheets left over from an earlier trip to Young’s Laundromat engulfs the inside of the Chevy Silverado, and life couldn’t be much better.
We wind our way down the only curvy road in Oklahoma, at the base of the Wichita Mountains, not knowing what beautiful site our eyes may meet next. Plenty of pick-up trucks pass us by as they’re headed towards Cache, there probably driven by the type of farmer that wouldn’t care a penny more about our truck if we broke down than if his cow got himself stuck in a ravine because, after all, we didn’t belong there to begin with.
They would be right; we were practically aliens having to call these mountains home. But a beautiful home, graced by the majesty of the mountains encloaked with the ever changing sky...that's right where I was meant to be.
There is nothing quite like the majesty of the blackened mountains to make you feel small, yet purposeful.
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