Taking Photos with the Mind

Yesterday I drove from Denver to Buffalo, WY, a straight shot north on I-25.  After clearing the Colorado Urban sprawl, it was a wonderful visual experience.  I was wanting to get to Buffalo, and I had gotten a bit of a late start, so stopping was not on the agenda.  Still, I took photos with the mind.

Entering Wyoming on this route is a fun moment.  There's the sign welcoming you to Wyoming, then a view of a herd of bison grazing with a couple of oil well pumps in the background.  Sweet.  And every now and then some thoughtful agency has placed a silhouette figure atop a hill-- a bison, a steer, a triceratops.

This visit, the wonderful grasslands are all green.  They were green two years ago when I came, but toasty brown last summer at approximately this time.  The North Platte was full of water, as were the various lakes and ponds and sloughs along the way.  I love this countryside of rolling grassland, with now an then a break for interesting rocks -- outcrops in fantastic shapes, over there a formation that looks like a castle, and over here a crennelated wall.

At highway speed, you only get to glimpse the animals.  Lots of horses grazing in fields.  Lots of beef cattle, too.  And I was pretty sure I saw a group of antelope.  Yes, deer, too.  Geese and ducks, the geese lookeding as if they were already practicing to fly south.

And on the left, west of the highway, a row of hills, sometimes with mountains in the back.  As I came close to Buffalo, there was a quick peek at the Cloud Peaks.  Route 16 travels up into them, and Buffalo is a place for people who are going there to stop and reconnoiter.  But this time, I am taking the road more traveled by; the Interstate is my destiny.  I have said this before when I stopped here that I want to come back, to take time to explore this country and its mountains, but knowing how way leads on to way, I doubt that I shall ever come back.  Just a quick look as I continue on my way to the life I have chosen.

So I have these pictures of the mind, gathered at somewhere north of 75 miles per hour, of a place I will never really visit.   It is good to have done this much.