Like a newborn, this place has stripped me of all that is unnecessary. Even my words feel sparse.
A mother whitetail deer and her fawn leap through the nearby fields at the state park
Bright colored billboards flashing orders and creating need for things have been replaced by simple, unadorned, almost indifferent messages. "If you want it, it is here," say these simple messages. "If not, then move along."
A farmer's advertisement
And yet, life is more colorful out here on the Ranch.
Sunsets linger. Stars are brighter, burning in great white swirling clusters in the sky.
Out here, there's no need to be anything but yourself. No frills.
My hair is naturally curly - something I've fought most of my life with steaming hot flat irons, hundreds of dollars in hair products and lots of time wasted in front of mirrors. For what?
My face bears a constellation of freckles almost as complex and vast as the stars out here - something else I've tried in vain to hide with make-up.
But now, I've abandoned make-up, and most days, my hair dryer. I've embraced the curls.
In doing so, I embrace myself.
Out here, conversations are straight-forward discussions about the simple complexities of fence posts, cattle herds, tractors and the upcoming county fair.
Life seems to move in a natural rhythm with nature. We sleep when it's night, we wake when it's light.
Could it be any other way?