Posts Tagged ‘wildflowers’

It’s Monday, time for another walk with Jo and other friends, but on this walk, we can easily frame a few choice bits of Wyoming for Amy and the photographers of the Lens Artists group (as well as all the walkers.) Tie your laces and let’s go! But first, take a look out the window. You never know what you’ll see.

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I think it’s difficult to really show the scope and impact of a meadow filled with wildflowers in a photo. So many of them are small and there’s so much grass. But I’ve done my best to show the plethora of the wildflowers carpeting the mountain meadows this spring. Take my word for it, it was stunning.

When at our cabin, there’s no phone service, so if we want to make a call, we have to walk to the “phone booth”, high on a ridge where we can look out over a good part of eastern Wyoming. A satellite phone will work, but being without phone service is one of the joys of vacation there.

The walk to the phone booth is a bit over a mile each way, but at 7200′ and in the mountains, it’s not like a walk in the park. Additionally, there are attractive nuisances in every direction. My method is look down, look out, look down, look out; repeat often. If you wander off the path, it doesn’t matter, just keep heading in the right direction. Let’s go!

Down.

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These gorgeously hairy beauties were everywhere this spring and I fell in love.

We’ve often seen Wyoming brown and I’ve seen it partly green but it, like so many other places in the country, had much rain this spring. That meant that conditions were ripe for wildflowers.  I loved these shooting stars and I think you can see how wet it was!

It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!
― Mark Twain

© janet m. webb

It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.
John Galsworthy, The Forsyte Saga

There are more signs of spring as we walk along, all of them still rather damp.

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