Yellow

I have always claimed that I don't have a favorite color. Dahlia Boy always insisted it was yellow. "You just pick it more" he told me. Maybe it's true. This weekend I was certainly in love with the tangible sunshine that was blooming on the Wyoming hillsides.

Saturday evening my family stole away on ATV's and the like and headed our way into the forested mountains. I ended up driving with Dad on the back when we came to a meadow absolutely abounding in big yellow blossoms. The sunflowers were set ablaze by the sage brush and in the evening light the hillsides looked like they were dusted with fire. It took my breath away. It was one of those moments I try to memorize; try to take a moment of stillness and let it fill me, press on my mind and my eyes until I feel like I can't press back. It's in those moments when my heart swells with gratitude for refreshing sights that seem to cleanse my soul and replenish my bones with the marrow that life sucks out of them.

We drove through three such meadows and every one was vibrant and stunning. Sometimes beauty just catches you off guard. And nothing can prepare you for the things that pierce you in all the best ways. It's almost painful beauty. The kind that leaves you near tears because you needed to see it so badly and didn't even know you did. The rushing feeling of grandeur fills up all the empty spaces that the daily ins and outs tear away from you and leave you wanting.

It's funny that I am sometimes too busy, too self-centered, too crazy, too over worked . . . to realize that I need to be filled.

But I was. In those brief moments where sunshine flooded my being and yellow overtook me, I felt peace.