We continue our drive through the raging beauty of Jackson Hole, I murmur excitedly and point out the window of the car, my breath fogging up the glass, our chuckles in unison with the clap of thunder that emitted in the distance. Dad says how we should continue back to the lodge, however, my pleading persuades him to turn in to the gorgeous, old barn houses, rain now pounding on the windshield. I jump out of the car, skip through the long, untamed grass, let the rain and wind kiss my cheeks, and gawk at the treacherous beauty of the mountains contrast with lush greenery. I believe we all at the same moment thanked the heavens for such irrevocable exquisiteness, for silence replaced the whispers for a fleeting moment. I bound through the field like a school-child and bask in the gorgeous solitude. The hypnotic sound of water beating through the land echoed in our ears that evening. We all went to bed that night sleeping soundly and dreaming of jagged mountain peaks and yellow wildflowers.
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