Montana

When I go west I feel smaller. Out there they got big skies, big mountains and breezes all in different colors and tones. It’s humbling to be wrapped in arms that big. It seriously takes you into its heart, shakes your hand and lets you rest. Big breathes. A autumn’s cold makes my nose struggle to take it all in. I pull through the middle of my face and feel the pine roll down my lungs. Tastes like mint. But even in this land of big there aren’t big buildings. It’s a different size of people, more figuratively than literally. You see these personalities take up entire valleys. Their laughs can be heard for miles before they are forgotten in the emptiness of open roads and big bright stars. It’s a rich dark blue at night and the clouds look like silver ribbons playing with the big snow topped ridges. They dance; and they dance in boots. Their songs smell of whiskey. They’re happy to meet you and they mean it. It’s just quiet out there. You can literally hear what a deaf man hears. Borrowed ears make for borrowed feelings that somehow feel real. I could drift to sleep to that sound in the middle of a crowded subway. I’d put it on iTunes and charge a dollar and a half. Call it big lullabies. I know all the words to that song. I’ll sing it to you when we meet again.