September 13, 2013
In the last rays of evening light, far below at the base of a distant peak, elk began to bugle… soothed by the soft siren sounds of cool winds tumbling through the hemlocks… spellbound for hours by stars so bright and dense that a needle-wand of light could not fit between them, sleep came slowly to a soft bed of fir needles, on a high ridge, in a place called “Vermilion”.
Then morning came, gentle and easy, through a saddle to the east,
and within the hour, wolves sang.
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