So far South Dakota has awakened our senses. A perfect beginning to our west bound ventures. So unexpected, the silent, somewhat dreadful mix of dead air and absence of wildlife around the camp. Leave with a sense of awe. The Badlands we have conquered.

Onto Custer State Park and the Black Hills.

Set up camp on a sloping forest bed of orange, springy pine needles on the upper loop of Center Lake Campground.

Enter Frank and Lilah. Inhabitants the camper across from us. Lilah – Mickey as she prefers – paying tribute to the lovable Disney mouse, wandered over with hot chocolate and the rest is history. She preferred hers with Schnapps and we couldn’t agree more. Thick as thieves we were by the span of a drizzly afternoon.

Hiked around Center Lake. Frolicked and climbed like children up and around the waterfall and took the slippery moss rocks across the miniature deluge. Joy in the little things.

Make it the full way round, head back to a lightly drizzling, rain washed camp.

We continue to underestimate the sheer natural beauty of this unlikely state, South Dakota….

Every morning, this one being no exception, our walks yield transcendental sights, over and over again. Sunrise and daybreak meld with blues and pinks. What a sight.

We drive our wide Chevy through the thinnest switchback mountain pass. Seeking the Cathedral Spires and The Little Devil’s Tower. Those trails and rock formations are well frequented and many traipse lazily- or else take off like a setter dog bound towards a fowl in flight. Seeking the highest mountain, chancing the most challenging climbs.

After an uphill mountain ride instilling fear in this unproven mountaineer, perilous falls but a wheels length astride, we barrel into a fog. Again, time our perfectly synchronized companion, coaxing the sun to ignite behind our first glimpse of the breathtaking spires.

No words to give justice to another vastly incomprehensible beauty. Towers of matte red rising rock surrounding us in a valley of trees along the path of sand and shining quartz chips.

We reach the actual Cathedral Spires, near the top elevation. These jagged peaks thinner and augmented from the rest, two on the right side pressed together as if hands praying: thanking the creator for the safe haven amongst the sprawling Black Hills surrounded by tiny yellow blossoms and endless blue skies.

Back to the van. Higher up and further in. Arrive at Little Devil’s Tower trail head. After bottleneck of tourists in R.V’s and Subaru’s and one car at a time mountain tunnels on Needle’s Highway. Seems a decade, yet drive on.

We’ve been gifted a local secret. Our aforementioned neighbors Frank and Mickey told us of “The Poet’s Table.” An off the beaten path sanctuary of sorts. Decades ago someone carried a wooden picnic table and stools into an alcove of rock hidden above a runoff trail. We were determined to find it, but decided to hike on the actual trail to the peaks first. Onward to Little Devil’s Tower.

The Cathedral Spires, at a few thousand feet lower in elevation in the early morning fog and dew covered a.m. had made for a chilly hike. Despite the crisp morning cool, the incline of the steep winding trail, under a piping hot South Dakota sun warming as noon approached – had us shedding layers in no time. Baking flat stones to cooking temperatures and delivering on promises of desert heat.

Another incline. First leg through the forest, heavy steps, hot panting breaths. Walking stick easing the weight and pressure of the incline on aching knees.

Second leg clambering over rocks, mountainous terrain, Spider-man stance, crawling and reaching for a handhold….finding purchase among slippery stones. Loose gravel meets newly worn rubber soles, grip, climb, extend.

I’m not sure why we keep underestimating South Dakota, but we clamber over the last rock formation to the top and there we were…speechless yet again. We are 6,900 feet up on top of Little Devil’s Tower and the world seems to open up beneath us for infinite miles in every direction. We take in the 72,000 acres of towering pine, ash, birch and maples layered through the expanse of Custer State Park and beyond.

The back of the mighty Mount Rushmore in the distance. Here we are on top of the world. We try and take it all in but how do you catch a cloud and pin it down?

Feel the warm rock surface, taste the clean, thin air. Burn an image into the back of your retinas to relay to overstimulated senses and brain tenses and hold on to that for forever. We eat the rest of our lunch, sandwiches spread with potato salad, salty sunflower seeds already shelled, all while looking out over eternity captured here for us mere mortals to behold.

Scale down the sheer cliff face and repel to the base. Just kidding. Walked back down and finally returned to our pursuit of “The Poet’s Table.”

We stumbled around -up and down gorges and valleys for what seemed like hours. It was probably more like thirty minutes but we had already been hiking for five hours, running low on ambition and bellies beginning to grumble in earnest. Return in vain to the van, scratched and weary, to try again on the morrow.

Back to camp, rest and break bread with Frank and Lilah. Pheasant stew over white rice and acoustic guitar around the fire. Burning white hot with pitch- the petrified sap oozing out and making flames lick the coals and warm the immediate air – twice as hot as plain dried wood.

Tent beers and bedtime. Too many tent beers and overslept a bit. Frank cooks an amazing breakfast over the fire on a large oval metal disk- fashioned from farm machinery of Frank’s past.

Oblong blueberry pancakes from the slope of the cook dish. Dippy eggs and salty, crisp bacon, mouthwatering from a distance. What a spread.

Pack up, hugs and goodbyes tinged with sadness. A couple of old hippies showed us twenty-somethings what a life well lived can look like at age 62. True and dear friends. Part ways, but never forgotten.

One last task before we head southwest to Colorado. Back to the damn Poet’s Table quest. We try again this time with not one, but three sets of cryptic local directions. Things like “200 paces into a valley of aspens pointing up the runoff from the broken angled birch, behind the rock face with a vertical crack next to the huge dead ponderosa beside a bigger dead spruce.

Turns out all the rock faces have vertical cracks.

At last we chance upon locals just leaving the secluded alcove that hides our destination. Michael spots the vibrant writing on the face of the rock wall first. At last we’ve made it.

Tucked into a dry alcove sits a worn green wooden picnic table with four green, bench-like chairs. A cabinet rests against stone layers – housing ledgers and journals of the adventurers before us. Poems, wishes, letters, hopes, and even some melancholy musings fill thousands of pages and names in ink and paint cover every visible surface of rock, table, cabinet and chairs.

We Were Here.

Sense of accomplishment and tranquility at this last little wonder of the Black Hills. We left small tokens of our presence and hiked back to the Chevy.

Kudos, South Dakota. You’ve got some rad nature to conquer. But, I’d say we pretty well killed it. On to Colorado – Wyoming technically blocking our way.

Huh. Wyoming. I saw my first tumbleweed…aaaaaaaannnd moving on.

See ya in Colorado. 😉

So where were we? Oh yes, coming from a wicked weekend at Shangri La and headed west towards South Dakota. What the hell is in South Dakota???

Michael and I are vibing from good tunes and good company, but a little quiet as we venture into the unknown. This is really it. What we’ve been plotting and planning. An escape to glimpse the world beyond our familiar midwestern horizon.

We make it to Palisades State Park right off of the eastern border of South Dakota. Registration got a little wonky, but we found a nice little site anyways. Rode by the tiniest, adorable wooden cabins overlooking the lake on the way in. Maybe next time.

Park, unpack. But then…the strangest occurence. I reached for our folding chairs in the back of the van and overturned Michael’s button adorned festival hat. Lo and behold, a stowaway! The bravest of toads, half-dollar sized and black as a 1997 Will Smith in a MIB movie, had made the three and a half hour journey from the oaken forests of Harmony Park to the Palisades with us. In the brim of Michael’s straw fedora. What an adventurous amphibian.

We released his wartiness into the South Dakota wilderness and wished him well on his new endeavors.

We took the three mile loop around the lake and watched “tweens” (12-15 year olds-ish) cliff jump into the quarry from forty or so feet up. We vowed to do that in the morning.

Up early, breakdown camp, wimp out of cliff jumping and hit the road. Grab hot showers while we can before endless yellow highway dashes resume.

Later…

Enter the Badlands. Wary but curious, we followed the unplanned detour into the park. Rolling in beneath light sprinkles and an ominous sky. We took a slowly winding road through breathtaking red rising spires. On and on we drove, seeking the backcountry camping within. Tourists stopped along outlooks, looking out over infinite horizons and snapping polaroids of grazing buffalo. A wonder and a sadness- that these mighty bison roam so easily and comfortably near our metal tanks trailing rocks and dusty gravel through their grazing lands.

After the pavement ends, we ride twelve miles over the bumpiest damn gravel road in the history of like, forever. I’m exaggerating but the metal grate that guards the cargo of the van from crashing through the front was rattling like a machine gun from Nam. Doubting our backcountry camping decision more and more by the second, we plunge on.

I spot dime size color splotches in the valley down and left of the winding road. We become giddy as we realize we have reached the (free!) campground-Sage Creek. Pull into a circular field with maybe fifteen other residents dotted around the encampment.

Set up camp in the rainy, overcast afternoon. Tired and a bit restless from the ride. Decide to venture into the foothills anyways. Pass the bison we rode by on the way in, grazing within five feet of nearby tents and making the rounds lazily around the camp, as if the hosts.

First hundred yards a miserable, chilly, uphill trek until we break up over the first rocky trail. The sun emerges exactly as we burst out onto a flat overlook with cairns in the distance. We stop awhile, play our own rock-Jenga. Frolic a bit like children and breathe deeply of this new atmosphere.

So this is what it feels like to be in a Lord of the Rings movie. My colored, green patchwork cape flowing in the wind as we traversed rocky rises and bluffs of green and sandy greys with desert reds streaked throughout. Higher up- finally, reach the top of this pass. A wide, flat shelf stretching on for miles, the empty road to our right and the valley camp below to our left. The sun exploded through the clouds again, within the minute we arrived, banishing the clouds for us to feel the sun’s warmth for just a moment.

We had no idea. The eerie silence of the Badlands and our connection to that particular moment, in time and tune with nature and the procession of the eroding day seeming to cease for us just this once. Utter Eden.

Once we’ve breathed as much fresh existence and inspiration from that endless expanse of earth and sky as we could, hike back down to our little blue tent amongst the squeaky little prarie dogs. They’re adorable and I want to squash one against my face to cuddle and keep for forever. Michael said no.

We plan a sunrise hike east through the valleys to the taller hills for a 7:26 a.m. dawn in the quietest valley in the world. Or so it seems. Michael had to wake me twice.

“Twenty more minutes,” I mumble.

Wish granted, but then we rouse, hike, glimpse bison afar in an ovecast, low glow sunburst through the distant horizon. Climb down- must not disturb the little white flowers and watch out for buffalo scat…wait, scat is for cute little forest animal poop. These are bison land mines and watch you damn step. Traverse a muddy Sage Creek, hop, skip and a jump- pack up, start up, head towards the Black Hills on the other side of the State.

We had one last order of business to take care of before continuing on. We had been subliminally manipulated by what seemed like hundreds of billboards across the entire state of South Dakota, claiming 5 cent coffee from the sprawling superstore that is Walldrug- a 72,000 square foot outlet shop with everything under the sun and moon. We again, vowed to go. Again, our plans were foiled by scatterbrained navigation…we missed the exit immediately out of the Black Hills and our consumeristic intentions came to naught. Oh well.

Badlands blew our mind/brain continuum and rocked our mundane existence. Next up, the Black Hills and Custer State Park. What else ya got South Dakota?

Michael and I venture into the oaken forest that houses Shangri La musik festival for a four day weekend wonderland in Harmony Park Minnesota. We are going off the grid to get our wild sides under control before we set our sights west. We rolled into the muddy park in our dusty white Chevy Express tailing our caravan of pirate and gypsy friends. Jagged wooden fence spires guard an oak Eden. Welcome home.

It feels like I was just here, standing at the edge of an open field with Bambi, slow hooping, finger picking taut strings and snapping freeze frames with my nikon and my memory’s inner eye. Last time I was racing towards the finish line. This time, this life, I’m just breaking the surface. Emerging from the depths to breathe this new promise, this new journey.

The camp is so quiet before the throng of kindred travelers settle within the woods. So many thoughts and emotions feeding a whirlwind in my subconscious. I’m here, yet so deeply indulged in a past and foreign mindset – mind bend – mind test.

So come, rise from weariness. For the darkness holds adventure that day can merely shadow.

Burst through shining green glades into understanding. Heavy thoughts and thrums yet this feels so light. So much love.

My senses are so full and brimming I can’t begin to predict where we may land. In the lands of curiouser and curiouser we have arrived and set up shop for a weekend of wonders.

Breathe in. Breathe out. All this life, beating down and throwing curve balls into the wind- expecting precision while propagating chaos.

An order to things and a disorder to bridge the gap. It’s cooling down under crisp pines. Fresh minds, rest, reset, reload, ignite. Welcome home.

Not to mention we got to see an A-list line-up of amazing musik: our lovely festival hosts Wookiefoot, as well as Nahko Medicine for the People, I Like You, Horseshoes and Hand Grenades, Useful Jenkins, Dustin Thomas, Heatbox, Mike Love, Tubby Love and Amber Riley, and countless other jammers in the Ohm Dome, on three different stages and throughout camp.

Four magical nights in the woods. “Bump and Grind” dance bandits and “power of yes” flash mobs…”Power of yes flash mobs you ask?” Well you see, our last night at the pirate encampment we were minding our own booty when a tall, bald, blue robed man appeared from the shadows asking if we had faith in the power of “yes.”

As he preached to our bewildered flock, we were silently ambushed from all sides of the woods by other believers in blue, singing boldly “To the power of Yes!” Then slowly fading out and whispering their way back into the forest. I just don’t have any words to really explain what happened there in the woods that night…

Wandering hippies gave boyscout advice on our fire pit and warned us of festival dangers… #Broken glowsticks are a no-no. (Something about water contamination, fish food, people food- then doom and ultimate destruction of the human race.)

Outside the gates, wood walls cannot contain melodies vibrating through the earth and rippling with the wind through green and golden fields. Songs spreading through particles and seeds to communities, Harmony.

Harmonize- align our voices with the needs of our people, our planet- for she cries out in need of protection. So many voices gathered here to hear and be heard. To spread the movement and initiative we need to guarantee a brighter future for our children’s children’s children.

To protect the rivers, mountains, lakes, forests, oceans and animals we must know ourselves and know our worth. To trust that our individual light matters in the face of the brightest sun. And our combined hope brighter than the Northern lights and a trillion stars.

Michael and I have been weaving our way into the fight…but where to start? So much to learn yet so much to give and it all starts now.We are hungry for a fight so we’ll travel on and fight hunger. A musik movement to raise funds for soup kitchens and basic needs in all the major cities we come across in our adventure.

Musik is love. We are family. (And pirates arghhh!) Gathered to celebrate our health and homes on this beautiful earth. Dancing barefoot days and barefoot nights. Neon lights in the trees and shadows behind glowing tapestries. Hoots and howls emanate from the woods well into the predawn hours- those resilient humans baring their animal instincts to sing and dance in the dark and become nocturnal creatures, unwilling to greet the sunrise.

As quickly as the techni-color camp erected, were tents and campers swept and shut, zipped and locked and the dreamers finally awoken. And. Here. We. Go. To the Wild Wild West. Awhooooo!

It’s like trying to trick a compass. This feeling of mine.

August yields the last dregs of Vitamin D and blistering rays while the waves and wakes bestill on the water and the city folk make their way back to concrete jungles. Normally, the summer’s Tasmanian blur begins to slow and phase into a sharpness of mind and mission that signifies another scholastic year. This time not so. No more lessons learned in static standstill, but received and understood with the intent to share it all.  As I will have found what so many wanderers before me have surely come to know. As to what that may be I haven’t yet a clue.

My inner clockwork, systems – skeletal and spiritual, living and breathing or hypotheticals, are grinding to a halt. Gear by gear rusting and eroding while the air cools. The hour is change, or becoming very near.  The needle points north yet a compass I am not.

I’m running west. To chase each dusk down the coastline. To set with the sun every day, knowing its beauty and living blessed. To watch the sunrise half a world away.

It has turned so very quiet, within a few brief days, and hundreds of thousands of shallow breaths.

As if maybe had no one been watching, one may believe it had been as such always, for infinitely many turns of the moon.

Yet just days ago, the truest friends of my heart bound themselves in love and marriage in the eyes of God and pirates. A freeze-frame of joy in time’s relentless ticking.

I traveled east to immerse briefly in the necessary mundane segue that often preludes greatness, discovery and immensity. Hot, restless, rewarding….but that was then and here we are now, at a crossroads.

Rest and relocate, turn and turn and turn again and I’m back in the semi-present moment. Trek to Michigan with the newlyweds to reset and center whirlwind thoughts. Hiking, pumping lungs, new shoes break blisters on shiny pink heels, preparing for the journey west where the mountains, valleys and gorges give bountifully yet take many prisoners. But here and now, to the north, where we rest and make merry- thrumming musik among wise, silent birches and creaking maples holding court. This is the moment.

Yet I digress, one week… to dismantle my compass. No tiled halls nor graphite filling little bubbles on scantrons, no tests to take. Not on paper anyways. I’ve absorbed what I will in academia and I wish to sit in the lecture halls of the oaks where the blackbird takes to the podium and we forest creatures listen to his knowing song. In shaded green woodlands, down white lined pavements, in hearth and home and as far as these wings/wheels/paws/feet may travel.

Next week our friends and family will gather from the corners of creation to celebrate in love and song under the cover of an oaken forest. Welcome home. Community and peace in its element. And then… so shall it begin in full, this grand journey and adventure. So bye for now.

-Analise Elle

Forest runs through damp shaded earth, Huntington Beach State Park, South Carolina.

Praying for patience, compassion, strength and forgiveness…mine and mine yet to be given. Dragonflies the greenest forest shades, lighting wisdom on the tip of my tongue. Blue dragons like waterfall iridescence of a nether realm wonder.

Am I listening?

Wolves settle at my side. A friend in white and my own shaggy, auburn reflection. A gentle lope, then strong, able wings whisper to my right. Black and red flutters while winter whites and autumn oaken colors envelope me and ignite. The wolf meets the blackbird and never have I known such a flight. Feet/paws rake the gentle earth. Airborne strokes- rocketing through this life on disobedient winds and willful tides, laying path upon path before me. Until we meet again.

Write something. Freaking anything. I could stitch myself to this chair and let words and meanings drudge through my grey matter, as if it mattered. Making no hasty advance to break the surface. There is no cavalry, just another bottle. There is no desperate fight for life, nor true declarations of my heart. There exists not even darkness, for that at least would be a familiar shroud upon my soul. I am in the void. (I am the void?) I know not sorrow, nor joy nor time. All is suspended in a prism of apathy. And here I shall wait. God help me I’ll wait.

To be clear, people don’t change, well not really anyways. Barely I am tethered, merely my pinky fingers wrapped tight and white-knuckled around the surface of the real world. The other eight digits, as well as my toes, particles, follicles…tongue and teeth, cling to my world. The place I most often inhabit.

But there is no change. I have always, and will always be some version of my many truths. Innocence and voyeur, wisdom and youth, mild self-loathing, apathetic, hating and hated, powerful, ambitious, longing for everything and anything and in constant awe of it all. My truths are in orbit, to come again and again, full circle from birth til our departures from these earthen husks. Mayhaps tomorrow the sphere will spin and soon I shall be reborn.

I cannot bear the white noise and suburban static for one moment more. I swear to you not one more. Not with the sky so blue, the sun so bright, my heart fit to burst. 

Saturday March 12, 2016

-Late night layover

Headed to Utah for a bridesmaids weekend of pirating and pillaging. Delta sucks- 8 p.m flight out of MKE (my home for now.) Chance and circumstance over-nighting it in Denver- Late night cab ride to Howler at the Moon. City streets shut down and my heart met me on a corner road under the streetlights, just like the first time. Drinks with my dirty blonde friend and his debonair accomplice, tall, dark and devious. Shots, laughter, and a few stray drops of rain. Dunk, he says…(our code for three sheets to the wind or something like that.) Missed that- wolfy grin and boozy brain. Maybe no time had passed at all, or maybe it had passed all at once and here we were reliving our greatest hits on replay. Alarms the rudest awakening. “Come back to bed,” he says, as if we’d ever gone. To no avail- I smile slightly, turn away. Britney Spears as we fly down the highway in the breaking dawn- his pick not mine. For this and a thousand reasons, the only exception. Another goodbye. I look back, as always. May we meet again.

Sunday March 13th, 2016

Still buzzing from Denver… No sleep for the wicked 😉

Breakfast and finally reunited with my girls =) Tiger Lily the Unicorn and Miss Michele. Nestled in cozily at the bottom of a mountain diner, running on energy drinks, fumes, and good karma. Coffee bar in the crisp morning air keeps the girls going and fights off the slight chill. Heavy lids from the red-eyed airborne all-nighter, yet the comfort of present company settles over me like the familiar weight of a worn wool blanket. Then dig in to corned beef and hash with warm buttered corn bread. Two women breathed harmonies and thrummed good vibrations towards the smallfolk on their guitars.

Later…Keep on keepin on

Zoo day! Rescue zoo- two wolves, one white, pacing causally. Caged, yet mighty in his elegance. Marks the fence, steady stream as I walk by, noting my presence. One wolf to another, attentive, not threatened.

Bridesmaids pillaging and found my dress! Our “young Mormon hipster” cashier a.k.a the “YMH” fretted frightfully over our trying on dresses. He was dreadfully fearful of technology and apparently of us. Wary our scallywagging fingers may waggle and wander recklessly through meticulous racks of his wares. As if these fabrics were the Queen of England’s own finery.

“I’d hate to have to charge you for damages.” sincerely – the YMH

Best side note of the day…

Cousin Michele while wandering through a very different sect of the store.- “Oh, you’re clearly making fun of me because this is so obviously the wrestling section.” she said, surveying the lingerie and open butthole underwear aisles. Whole foods, patio snacks- pizza and curry. Then home and fall finally into sleeps sweet oblivion.

Monday March 14th

Angela, oh Angela, where art thou Ang?

Breakfast = eggs and parmesean, the sweetest succulent honeydew, bananas and a thick, tart berry juice down the hatch. Shopped around, then went highhhhh into the mountains. No words to do them justice. So incredibly thankful for this new experience in the beautiful Rockies with my best friends. Love love Love <3.

Pizza Place- apps and beer (can’t order drinks without food, God forsaken Mormon rules) under the subtle rain drops pattering against roof panes. Shop around. Wait for Angela. Alas, her train had broken down. Sammi loses dollars betting impatiently on which bus will bare our dear friend. Then there she was, bags in hand. Get riggght and readdddy and we’re off.

Tuesday March 15th

Hiking, Hot Springs and Peach Champagne

Loving lounging the morning away under the fuzziest blankets outside in the garage/fort…five little adventurers (Lovely Luna Lovegood of the four pawed variety included) all lined up on the couch. Three hours late hiking to Diamond Fork- morning people we are not…

Finally out the door, Jaime = navigator = what the hell were we thinking #worst idea ever. Lost in the mountains, however breathtaking, anxious to arrive. Too many girls. For far too long. In one sweaty rental car. Finnnallllly find trail head. Trekkin’ and stompin’ through the rising, shaded hills, blanketed by looming rock giants (rock biters of Fantasia… yumm limestone ;)) and towering tree lines. Burst into glades of sunlight. (Imagine a Twilight Cullen’s pale, glistening vampire skin- akin to our lackluster tans reflecting sunbeams off sweating skin.  Snow clung to the dregs of a receding mountain March winter, paving a slippery slope upwards, making the sun and drier earth all the more sacred.

Shed layers, breathe deep, climb higher. Turquoise hot springs. At last. Peach champagne and toasts to Sammi’s impending marriage (and inevitable divorce- per the ever optimistic Jaime.) Jewelry and sterling change Technicolor in sulfur springs then black as coal. Walk back down the mountain through light flurries. Purely Magical. Jaime a bit buzzyyy on the ride back…Nahko and horrendous rap blasted blue tooth vibrations in the rental car. Epic snowstorm through winding hills all the way to Park City, takin’ it slow and easy to our destination. Wasatch Brewery- eating, drinking and merriment… tensions cooled by ales and cocktails. Jaime and Michele mildly boy crazy and a mile a minute. Love them dearly.

Ride home. Fall into bed, sulfur stink stuck to skin and sheets. Not a care. Heady and fullfilled.

Wednesday March 16th

Mellowing Out

Straight chillin’. Bud Lite for breakfast. Musik and smoke rings. Basketball in the driveway, competetive game of Lion/Wolf i.e “horse.”Later… Funk N’ Dive in the P.M. More beer and met some Wisconsin boys, Appleton specifically. Shot some pool-9 ball…a few balls were m.i.a. Rocked some Pacman. Blue ghost nom nom domination. Jam sesh with everyone at home. Bunnies and Luna Lovegood. Michele asleep again. Lights out.

Thursday March 17th

Hangover. Sushi. Death… and Finding the Inner Wolf

Hangover. Sushi. Death. Damn shitty beer and day drinking. Driving to Eden, out onto the plains between the slopes, farmland, whole communities hidden amongst the mountain’s secluded rises.

Later, waterfall hike. No headphones, but Mitakuye Oyasin Naahhhko streaming through my gray matter. I matter, we matter, we are alive. Feeling the ache deep as my muscles and tendons strain against the slope of the mountain- footfalls on uneven surfaces. Out of breath. Enter the seclusion of the woods, the shade a safe haven from the mocking, vengeful sun.

Rest, water, snacks.

Thunder across a little foot bridge, stream rushing beneath. Find my wolf, breathing my fire, life granted and remembered. Running now, no-racing. Can’t stop, can’t slow down, leaving the mortals behind. Burst into clearing, breath catches, enter paradise. 

Icy kool spring water, gushes, and then trickles from the adjacent cliff face. A rainbow smiling upside down from the bottom, spanning a layer of crunchy snow- slowly melting, feeding the runoff.

Mountain goers cleared out and we gazed into dusk within the valley – between two sheer cliffs. The city below sparkled with wonder as the sun descended upon rooftops, reflecting diamond arrows of shimmering light back into the atmosphere. Warmth spread through my cheeks and hands. “I am flying.”

Munchies, (guilty pleasure) selfies, and at last the descent. Aching knees and air cooling. Blisters and bloody cuts- the Earth pushing back. I am so alive.

Bar hopping for St. Patrick’s Day later. Amaaaaaazing 7 piece band, sax and allll. Take me to Church rock cover was phenomenal. Drinks and dancing. So. Much. Love.  Then home and in trouble with officer Eth…for staying up into the wee hours. Finally out, rest. Pack for the inevitable a.m.

Ride and goodbyes, see ya on the flipside.

Wait for flight outta Salt Lake. Write down my thoughts. Dream while I’m awake.

-With Love,

Analise Elle

Hello all. My name is Analise Elle. You’ve maybe seen my videos or read my bylines but thus begins the chronicle of my adventures and endeavors and the mild musings that have flitted from my gray matter to ink spatter. So join me in my day to day and I will tell you everything I know to be truths, mistruths, miracles and everything in between. 😉

Yours truly,

-Analise Elle