Ok, Still figuring all this out a bit. What happened to the good old days of sitting next to a small log fire, and penning out a letter by hand while sipping on some old Scotch. I need a time machine.

I must have spend hours wandering around in aspen groves, following some game trail as it wound its way through the trees, higher and higher up the mountains. The days were filled with a light breeze, the trees making that gentle rustle sound and leaves would be falling in front of me, softly floating to the ground. The light inside was an intense yellow, bright, and warm, shining like the stained glass windows in an old cathedral. The shade cooling from the harsh, high mountain sun. On Saturday, it was fully 2:00 in the afternoon before I remembered that I had yet to eat that day, too busy in awe of what I was seeing to worry about hunger.