Leaving Salina in the early morning darkness, I headed west on I-70, bound for our farm in Littleton, Colorado. A waning moon, high in the southern sky, lit my path for the initial stretch, giving the wind turbines near Ellsworth a ghostly appearance.
Dawn broke as I neared Russell and the sun rose in my rear view mirror just east of WaKeeney. As the sky brightened, the moon lost its brilliance but remained ever present as I crossed the High Plains, where cattle grazed the stubble, harriers patrolled the fields and tumbleweeds(Russian thistle), caught in a strong north wind, strafed the highway like alien swarms.
Gradually moving ahead of my pace, the moon "approached" Pike's Peak as I angled north to cross the Palmer Divide and, as if on cue, dropped behind the Front Range when I entered Metro Denver. What better companion to make this ritual drive more inspiring!
